


In the shadows of the crossroads

by DemonQueen666



Series: Folkin' Around verse [10]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Attempted Murder, Bodyswap, Canon Crossover, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Confusion, Dark, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Dysfunctional Relationships, Evil Twins, F/M, Gen, M/M, Magic, Married Couple, Married Sex, Mild Gore, Mind Meld, Multiple Selves, Near Future, Parallel Universes, Parents & Children, Psychological Torture, Series Finale, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:48:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 125,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonQueen666/pseuds/DemonQueen666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two worlds existing side by side, two versions of one soul as alike as reflections in a mirror. Two paths for Fate to have taken: in one Loki became the villain we know...in the other, things went differently early on, both in choices and in chance. But an old enemy to one will soon become enemy to both. And as the fate of far more than two hangs in the balance, how will their own lives and the lives of everyone around them, be changed forever when these worlds collide?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fissure

**Author's Note:**

> AU for Avengers in some parts, compliant and set post film in others (trust me, you'll see what I mean); ignores the events of Iron Man 3 but not some of the implications, like Pepper being in charge of the company and Happy being promoted to head of security.
> 
> Well, it's been two years in the making, but at last this lengthy saga I ended up with is complete. Art once again by talented friend of mine whose website can be found [here.](http://laurenchaikin.com/)

* * *

 

After every battle was over, there was always the cleanup.

  
It was rarely ever easy. Depending on how large-scale the fighting was, how long it’d waged, there could be anything from strewn refuse to massive property damage. There were civilians to corral, wounded to be tended to. And sometimes, names had to be gathered from among the fallen.  
  
It didn’t end when the combatants put their weapons down – though sometimes that seemed to be how people imagined it happening. Or maybe they never bothered to think about the “after”, only concerned with the part of the story that was more exciting.  
  
But Steve knew better. He’d served as Captain America through one long war, and though he’d never got to see when it ended, he’d seen the history of what came after. And he knew it had taken more than a generation’s work to smooth over and fill in the marks left on the land and the people. Not all the damage done by a battle was physical.  
  
So maybe it was in memory of all those boys he’d led and left behind, or maybe it was to make up for never having been around for the curtain call in Europe.   
  
Or maybe it was because he could never stop helping, not when there was anything left he could do. But even when he was tired enough he thought he could drop, he always helped with the “after”.  
  
He figured, heroes marched off when their job was done, went away into the sunset. But a good soldier stayed behind to clean up the mess.  
  
This time there wasn’t a lot to do beyond literally picking up pieces. Shattered windows and downed power lines, a few overturned vehicles. A lot of agents had been scraped and bruised but no one seemed majorly hurt.  
  
A more than small mercy, considering what they’d been facing. It could have been a lot worse.  
  
Steve wound up assisting with the wounded, joining others as they helped them onto the planes and carried their stretchers. He finally had to be shooed away back at the Helicarrier by a team of grateful but insistent doctors.  
  
He wandered back onto the bridge which seemed eerily quiet despite rows and rows of young technicians seated at the computer bays doing their jobs. Thor stood before one of the windows by the edge, staring out into the sky while seeming to see nothing.  
  
Steve watched him but kept his distance, quiet, and didn’t interrupt.   
  
Thor and he came from two very different worlds and there was a lot about the other man he didn’t understand. But this? This he understood.  
  
Not all damage done by a battle was physical.  
  
The door slid open behind him and there was the distinctive clank of swaggering metal boots.   
  
Steve shut his eyes, briefly, and offered up a weary prayer that for once, Stark would keep it low-key.  
  
“Good job out there, guys.” Stark – still in the Iron Man armor but helmetless - made a sort of batting motion against Steve’s shoulder. “Have to admit, circumstances being what they are, still it’s kind of cool to have the full band back together, huh?”  
  
“Yeah.” Steve’s response was quiet, trying not to encourage him too much. Even though he found a part of himself was agreeing. “Maybe.”  
  
Stark gave him a smarmy kind of smirk and nodded, and then turned towards Thor…and said nothing.  
  
Who knew. Maybe Steve’s prayer had been answered. Or maybe even Stark could read this situation well enough to know it was time to keep his big mouth shut.  
  
His eyes bounced away from the Asgardian at the window back to Steve again. “You coming back to the Tower later?”  
  
“Not sure.” First he wanted to shower, change…maybe get a start on his incident report while the details were still fresh in his mind. Then, he could make up his mind over where he wanted to sleep that night. Still, he said, “Probably.”  
  
He didn’t ask what the others were doing. For the next twenty-four hours they might not see them at all. Agents Barton and Romanov were back at the action site assisting with the aftermath. And Banner…well, Banner wasn’t quite yet around. Apparently the Other Guy hadn’t got to hit enough things today and was off running to let out some remaining steam.  
  
“Okay,” Stark said, chipper. “We’ll leave a light on for you.” He turned to leave back the way he came, but took another glance at Thor and hesitated.  
  
“Welcome back, Big Kahuna,” he said after a moment, raising his voice a little, maybe so it would be obvious who he addressed. Thor blinked as if he was just coming out of a trance. “Weren’t sure exactly when we might be seeing you again. But I added on a room for you, just in case.” He gestured. “It’s there if you want it; no obligation, of course. I don’t know if you’d made any other arrangements but-”  
  
“Thank you,” Thor cut him off, but slowly. “That is most kind.” He looked away again, attentions drifting. “I do not know if I will need to make use of it; there are -- others, to whom I must speak…”  
  
“Right,” Stark replied, catching on. “Got it, say no more. Like I said, it’s there if you need it. No offense at all taken if you pass. Either way, I’m sure we’ll see you around.”  
  
He took a few steps toward the door and then gave Steve a half-mocking salute with two armored fingers as his parting shot. Steve nodded his head in reply, mouth twitching.  
  
The same irregular numbed silence fell again in the wake of Stark’s departure.  
  
Steve watched Thor watching the skyline for a few moments more before he felt obligated to say something.  
  
“You know, it  _is_  good to have you back,” he stated, quiet but fully sincere.  
  
There hadn’t been much use for the Avengers in the wake of their first mission together, but there had been more use than frankly Steve would have liked. They came together again, fought the good fight, but their makeup just wasn’t the same without the demigod.  
  
Of course, his return to Earth had come as part of a particularly unfortunate package deal. One that set off the whole reason they had been out there seeing action today.  
  
Steve remembered the footage Fury had showed them, of the explosion of white-hot energy that had fallen to Earth like a shooting star and then burst, sending a ripple of sickly-tinged green through the surrounding air in its wake.  
  
How Thor had come flying downward in streaking hot pursuit, teeth clenched, voice bellowing and hammer waving.  
  
How once again, in a sight that was vaguely déjà vu inducing, Loki had turned to face him with an angry and sinister smile.  
  
Loki had escaped from Asgard – and the only reason Thor came here was because he had chased after him as he ran. Loki’s actions had been the catalyst behind pulling the team together in the first place, bringing the six of them collected as one. And now here they were again, united fully for the second time, because of what Loki had done.   
  
In a way it seemed fitting.  
  
Thor nodded, weighted down by his own thoughts. “I am glad to see you again, friend Rogers. I missed you, and my other mortal allies. Though, I do not relish the reasoning behind my return…”  
  
He looked to his boots, or perhaps past them at the clouds by the bottom of the window. When he turned and met Steve’s gaze again his blue eyes were troubled and guilty.  
  
“I feel as though I must apologize.”  
  
“What for?” Steve asked, caught off-guard.  
  
Thor breathed out, almost a sigh. “I believed that Asgard could hold Loki. That he belonged there, far more than in any containment your people could devise. I as good as promised Fury when I asked that he turn Loki over for me. That was the deal we made – I could take him, because it was the only way to keep the people of Midgard safe.”  
  
The warrior prince looked away and down again, his disappointment writ into every one of the few lines on his near ageless face.  
  
“But I was wrong. I failed.” He shook his head. “And once again this world pays the price for my recklessness.”  
  
“You made the best call that you could at the time,” Steve countered. He took a few steps closer, fingers absently curling around the sides of the belt on his costume. “It wasn’t arrogance, Thor. You genuinely thought your world had the resources to keep Loki prisoner. Hell, it was what we all thought – and no matter what Fury or his secret council might be willing to admit to, we had no idea what we were even going to  _try_  to do if we had to hold him here.” He paused before adding, tiredly, “Frankly, I think we were glad you took Loki off our hands.”  
  
Thor made a faint sound reminiscent of a scoff. “And are you glad  _now?_ ”  
  
Steve hesitated again before answering, though not from any real uncertainty.  
  
“The truth is, if we’d kept Loki on Earth, they might not have handled him with kid gloves. But it wouldn’t have made any difference. He would’ve broken out again – and I’m sure it would have been a lot sooner than this. Guys like him; they don’t know how to quit.”  
  
And it was the truth, far as he was concerned. Even as he thought about it he realized he wasn’t really  _surprised_  to see Loki again. It was like part of him knew all along that Loki would break loose, and come back to Earth, and they were destined to have to fight him once more.  
  
And he was almost completely sure that everyone else probably felt the same. That even as he was carried off, in chains, along with his brother and the Tesseract, they knew it wasn’t the last they’d seen of Loki.  
  
It was just too easy to think someone capable of the things he had been would swallow one defeat and then  _stop._  
  
The look on Thor’s face was pensive but murky, otherwise hard to read. “No. You may be right.”  
  
That was all he said. But it didn’t take much to guess it wasn’t the only thing weighing on his mind.  
  
“You know,” Steve began, and then cleared his throat awkwardly. “You and I may not be all that close. But, for what it’s worth. Sometimes it does help to talk about it.”   
  
He’d bent an ear for a lot of troubled men in his day. By now it was almost close to second nature.  
  
Thor let out a breath he might well have been holding. “When you and the others look to Loki, all you see is an enemy. A dangerous man that must be stopped at all costs. For me, it is not nearly so simple. I see Loki, all that he is capable of, all the terrible things that he has done…and more. I see what he once was. I see a happier time that no matter what he says I do not think I fully imagined. He is, and will always be, my brother.”  
  
Thor stopped talking and gazed through the window again. Instead of speaking Steve waited.  
  
“I had hoped,” Thor continued eventually, softly, “that in bringing him back to our home, it would  _help_  him, as much it would keep the rest of the realms safe. Yes, I wanted to see Loki punished, for it was only just, but also I wanted to calm him, to  _heal_  him, to remind him that this is not the way things have to be. I thought that past his anger and madness there still remained more of the brother I grew up alongside.” His voice wavered and nearly broke. “But I am beginning to think it is not so. That all that was good has been swallowed up by darkness. And there is nothing left of Loki to be saved.”  
  
“I’m sorry.” Steve remarked, with rueful humor, “I’m probably the most sympathetic guy you’ll ever find when it comes to the issue of dwelling on the past.”  
  
He couldn’t blame Thor for being conflicted when it came to his own family. None of them could. And no matter what, Thor would always have that history with Loki none of them could touch. Even if they had their own conflicting opinions they still couldn’t argue with what he was feeling.  
  
And right now, it had to be painful to have to keep fighting his brother this way. It had to  _hurt_  to be coming to the conclusion it sounded like he was reaching.  
  
“I find that I keep looking back,” Thor told him, “searching my memories of how things were, and looking in vain for where it went so wrong. Trying to find the moment where things might have gone differently, if only I…I do not know,” he finished, faltering. He sounded equal parts resigned and frustrated. “Even now I do not know if there was anything I could have done, to change this.”  
  
Steve frowned slightly.  
  
“Thor,” he tried, “I know you mean well, but I don’t think you can blame yourself. No matter what the situation was your brother made his own choices. Everything he did isn’t on you.”  
  
He took a quick read on Thor’s expression to make sure he was probably receptive, before adding a more honest take on what his thoughts were when it came to Loki:  
  
“Besides, let’s really think about what kind of a man Loki is. Where he’s been. What he’s done. That didn’t come from nowhere. Do you  _really_  think there was a remote possibility that things could have turned out so different?”  
  
*  
  
“Three cheers for the king!”  
  
The roaring cry came from somewhere within the dining hall, bellowed out by a particularly exuberant and likely quite intoxicated warrior.  
  
But his call was met with a series of cheers, and within seconds many were echoing the demand with loud shouts of their own. They raised their goblets and pounded their fists against the table, creating a laughing and insistent clamor that their ruler should there and now be honored.  
  
The hour was late. Those assembled were among the finest warriors and most noble subjects that Asgard had to offer, the king’s closest friends and members of the royal court. They had been celebrating – for something of perhaps no real significance, but Asgardians rarely needed more than a pretense to eat, drink and be merry. The food had been good, the company also so, full of stories and jokes and songs. And the drink had been flowing freely.  
  
It really was probably time the party be broken up, and they all head off to a sound and well-deserved rest. But those seated at the table were not about to go quietly.  
  
The stomping and shouting and clapping hands continued, as the dinner guests insisted that their beloved ruler be treated to a hail.  
  
At last King Thor got to his feet, indicating with both hands that they should quiet down, but with a broad grin stretched across his face.  
  
“All right, my stubborn friends,” he chuckled cheerfully, “you win.” He waited for the second round of cheering that broke out to cease, and then looked around at them with an almost mischievous smile.  
  
“Well, then? Which one of you wants to start in praising me?” They laughed as he waved his hands, half-jokingly: “Don’t be shy!”  
  
This persisted for a few moments, but finally a man seated near the middle of the table on Thor’s right side pushed his chair back and rose to his feet.  
  
His thick red hair worn in a topknot, his long beard finely combed, Volstagg cleared his throat austerely and lifted his goblet high.  
  
“To my long-had, dearest friend, Thor,” he began brightly: “A man of many talents, many honors, and many strengths.” He bowed his head slightly, turning to look both ways and take in the others with his gaze; lingering slightly where he met his wife’s eyes. One of the finest-dressed women there, Siún sat with her hands in her lap, a calm and proud smile on her face; dwarfed by her two sons on either side.  
  
Volstagg finished his toast more merrily: “A man who knows how to live well and partake in life’s many pleasures –  _almost_  as well as I do!” More than a few laughed.  _“To the king!”_  
  
 _“To the king!”_  everyone echoed, lifting their glasses as the robust warrior sat down. He leaned over to exchange a brief kiss with his wife, and then affectionately patted the shoulder of his daughter seated at his other side.  
  
Immediately after Volstagg was finished Sif stood up. She wore not a dress but silver ornamental armor, gleaming fiercely beneath the many lights of the hall, her hair bound in a long tail. Her chair was at the left side of the table almost directly next to the king, a place of highest honor.  
  
“To the mighty Thor,” she announced grandly, with a faint smirk: “A worthy leader and combatant for any battle, victor of countless many, and unmatched across all the realms for both skill and power.” She dropped her gaze in respectful gesture as she finished, “Asgard is proud and honored to call you hers.” There was a briefest pause as she and Thor exchanged a look and he smiled his thanks.  _“To the king!”_  
  
 _“To the king!”_  the crowd repeated again, and Sif returned to her chair.  
  
There was a longer pause now than there’d been between the first toast and the second. Those assembled hesitated, looking at each other, not certain how to proceed after. Not only had they been eloquent and high praise indeed, both had been given by Thor’s closest friends. Not many there felt they had room to go last now without feeling out of place.   
  
Hogun silently turned to Fandral and raised his eyebrows, daring him by expression alone to try and follow that act.  
  
But it wasn’t Fandral who stood up to finally give the third and last hail.  
  
Gracefully, purposefully, the king’s brother rose to his feet. Without quite meaning to everyone in the hall fell silent as their heads turned and their eyes went to the prince.  
  
“To my brother, Thor,” Loki stated, his voice even, his face expressionless in solemnity. His wine goblet was upheld poised in one hand, arm outstretched far as it would go. “High king of Asgard for nigh on these past twenty years. A warrior whose name stretches far across the known worlds and beyond.”  
  
Loki had been placed at the table’s left far down along it, towards the middle and almost nearer to the end. This wasn’t out of lack of any respect but mere necessity, to make room for his rather large family.  
  
His two sons looked painfully bored, the second eldest hiding it better than the first. His daughter, still clad in her armor, had attended happily to the merriest part of the feast but looked less than enthused by this long-running ceremony. The two youngest children had been sent to bed hours ago. Only Loki’s wife, bedecked in emeralds, looked to be listening to what he was saying.  
  
The distance between them actually made it easier for Thor to look at his brother without having to turn or twist in his seat. He stole a glance at his own daughter and son, who were doing their best to stifle their fidgeting – Jane had taken their younger boy off herself some time ago, saying she wanted to get up early the next morning and go over some telescope data. Resting his arms on the table Thor quietly watched Loki go on speaking, attentive.  
  
“A hero – both a defender, and a savior,” Loki continued with his calm, meaningful listing. “One who has without hesitance laid down his life at times to protect alike both ally and stranger. He who stands steward to the second treaty of peace with Jotunheim. He who ushered in the glorious age that saw the re-creation of the Bifrost. He who oversaw countless diplomatic exchanges with Midgard.”  
  
“Hey, with some help from his sister-in-law!” Darcy couldn’t seem to resist adding in.  
  
The tense silence was parted briefly by a few titters and murmured chuckles at that. Loki gave it a moment to settle and then went on, undaunted.  
  
“Guardian of Asgard’s stronghold, her riches and her people. Unflagging protector of her interests. With an eye out for any threats, and an ear open to wisdom, upon a cool and tempered head rests the crown.” The words fell articulately from Loki’s lips, as polished as if he had been practicing them. “With compassion, and diligence, and generosity, the strength of your benevolent heart is easily equal to that of Mjolnir itself.”  
  
Having held Thor’s gaze the entire time, at last Loki’s blank expression broke in a faint but warm smile. “Asgard has never known a better king.”  
  
Thor nodded to him, touched, raising his own goblet and taking a quick sip as if giving his own toast to Loki. “Thank you, brother.”  
  
Loki nodded back, smoothly lifting his wine higher.  _“To King Thor!”_  
  
 _“To King Thor!”_  the assembly cheered at last enthusiastically, glasses upraised and hands waving.  _“Hip, hip, huzzah! Hip, hip, huzzah! Hip, hip, huzzah!”_  
  
When the last of the toast was drank and everyone finished putting their word in amongst the buzzing din that followed, the king got up and slowly made his farewells. One by one those seated at the table drifted out.  
  
The various young princes and princesses were handed off to servants and scurried off to bed. For a man of both his size and importance Thor had somehow managed the impressive feat of vanishing into thin air. No doubt he hoped to kiss his wife goodnight.  
  
Leaning sleepily against her husband, Darcy turned her head to look further ahead down the hall and spotted her second son in bashful but heated conversation with Volstagg and Siún’s daughter.  
  
“Austen, come  _on._ ” The two leapt apart, blushing, as she shooed the youth away. “It’s late. You can talk to her all you want and do whatever else tomorrow.”  
  
“Mom,” Austen protested feebly, embarrassed, even as he headed obediently in the direction of his own bedroom.  
  
The object of his attentions kept his gaze for as long as possible with pale eyes. After he was gone she moved the focus of her vision back to his mother, who she addressed with a respectful curtsey.  
  
“Goodnight, Milady.”  
  
“Goodnight Noor.” Darcy stifled a yawn.  
  
She yawned a second time more openly, waving a hand in front of her mouth. Her feet carried her by habit down the hallways of the palace in a path they’d by now well learned to tread. She brushed one hand against the wall, stroking both stone and tapestries, as she leaned against it for support.  
  
Suddenly a pair of strong arms wrapped around her from behind, trapping her in a tight grip at her midsection.  
  
Darcy giggled drowsily as Loki’s body pressed against hers with his full weight, bending so that his mouth was by her neck as he hugged her securely against him.  
  
“You know I hate it when you interrupt me,” he told her testily. But his voice was low and breathy, almost a purr, his irritation directed more towards taunting her with kisses than with punishment.  
  
“Yeah, well.” Darcy tilted her head back, melting into him, unabashed. “Too bad. I thought you knew me better by now.”  
  
They lingered there in the hallway, her hands rested over his as they held on and rocked into one another. His hands moved along the curves of her torso and sides. The way they fit together was comfortable, well-practiced – and still very promising. Tired as she was Darcy had the feeling this night wasn’t over for them quite yet.  
  
Not that  _she_  was complaining.  
  
Loki caressed some of the hair away from her neck with one finger. “I thought that wives were supposed to honor and obey their husbands,” he protested mockingly.  
  
Darcy pulled away just enough that she could twist her head and look at him fully. “I think you need to get yourself a new wife, then.”  
  
Loki laughed, the sound of it still bubbling up from his throat as he kissed her deeply on the lips. Darcy wouldn’t let him pull away, drawing it out, lifting her hand to curl against one side of his face.  
  
When at last they parted they held each other’s eyes for a space, sharing an intimate and loving smile.  
  
Loki made a soft sound, almost another laugh, as he nuzzled her throat again with his eyes closed. “You know, I am so very glad that I met you,” he said vaguely, but full of earnest emotion.  
  
“Yeah,” Darcy agreed, half-focused. “Maybe you could say we both got lucky. Through good times and bad…it was all worth it, in the end.”  
  
Though the truth was neither of them had thought back to how they met with any detail now for  _years._  So much time had passed, and look at all they’d seen and done together since.   
  
That beginning; it hardly mattered anymore.  
  
*  
  
The hour was late. The area surrounding the abandoned stretch of road was pitch black, the only source of light coming from the distant stars.  
  
Dirty and dressed in little more than rags, a haggard drifter picked his way along the uneven track in the ground. He could barely see where he was going and his gait was uneven, shaky.  
  
He had the grizzled face and unfocused eyes of someone who had long ago fallen on hard times – maybe by fate’s mischance, or maybe by his own careless undoing. It hardly mattered now. Either way, he was here.  
  
He’d spent his last money on a bottle that was long ago drunk. Now all he had was an empty belly and no roof over his head to speak of; just him and the empty desert for company. But it was a warm night and there was no sign of rain. He could bed down out here with relatively few worries. He just wanted to pick along his way a little further, see if he couldn’t find any sign of shelter first.  
  
There was the uneven humming of insects and the occasional far off howl from a predator. Other than that the only sound was the dirt scuffing against his feet.  
  
But then suddenly out there in the darkness something moved.  
  
The man came to a halt, looking furtively and listening. Whatever it was it was like nothing he’d heard before. Nothing he could even describe.  
  
It was a sharp sound, and a rumbling one. Like something was being torn apart.  
  
A crunch like bones, a grumble like the earth was moving. And underneath it all, an unearthly hiss.  
  
Not sure what to do the drifter hobbled his way toward the sound, wary. The air felt unusually thicker where he was heading, and charged with electricity.  
  
Something was happening in front of him. Something his eyes couldn’t make sense of. It was hard to pick out in the dark, with his old eyes, but the oily blackness of shadows near the ground seemed to ripple, and pull apart.  
  
He saw a clawed hand and heard a rattling groan. And then suddenly something was there on the ground, crawling.  
  
The man stood dead still, watching. It was barely describable as a person: a skeleton wrapped in pale and desiccated flesh, black tatters and shreds of fabric clinging to an emaciated frame. As the ground became whole again it flopped in the dirt and lay there. But he thought he saw it breathe.  
  
“H-hey.” The voice broke out of the old man’s throat. He licked his lips nervously and then stepped forward. “Hey. Can you hear me?”  
  
There was no response from the shriveled figure on the ground. Overwhelmed by curiosity and a riveted sense of horror he came close, starting to bend down, and he reached to grab for what he thought was the beginnings of an arm.  
  
“What are you? Can you hear me? What-”  
  
The instant he was within reach a hand lashed out and gripped him with unexpected strength. There was an inhuman hiss.  
  
The man couldn’t move or get away. The thing hauled itself up towards his face – the last thing he saw was a pair of gleaming, evil eyes that bore into his own.  
  
Then a fanged mouth opened with a roar. There was no time to scream; within moments, all was silence.  
  
When the smoke cleared and what lingering remnants of the drifter’s body remained floated away, another figure stood alone and tall there beneath the wasteland watched over by a starry sky.  
  
A woman with skin a ghastly white, dressed in the remains of a black leathery dress that had seen better days. Her hair was long and lankly wild, tangled. Her skirt torn, her feet dirty, her nails shaped into broken claws. Her skirt was ripped and burned, her sleeves and bodice slashed. Her lips were bloodless, and her mouth parted unsmilingly to show sharp nasty teeth.  
  
She breathed in through her nose as the life she had stolen and consumed from the drifter filled out her weakened body, making her whole once more.  
  
There was a heated focus to her eyes – a look of animalistic madness.  
  
Selene was back. Clawed her way out of a bottomless pit, crawled on her belly across the abyss of the featureless hell she had been imprisoned to. Fought her way tooth and nail across countless pockets of reality to find her way back to solid ground.  
  
And she hadn’t done all of that without purpose.  
  
Taking another breath, Selene tilted her head back, looking up to the sky far overhead as if she could see something more far past it.  
  
“And now,” she determined out loud, her voice rough and sinister, “to Asgard.”  
  
*  
  
Far down below the palace of the Realm Eternal lay the weapons vault where her most powerful and dangerous treasures were kept. Guarded day and night, few had permission to enter, and none were supposed to be able to remove them without an order from the king.  
  
The objects contained within were mostly ancient, gathered from unknown places scattered across countless different worlds. They had been added there over generations by different kings, and many of their stories were forgotten.  
  
Some had been found, or won as prize after an adventure of questing. Most had been taken by conquest.  
  
At the farthest end of dimly-lit ominous room stood a floor-to-ceiling metal grate, and hidden behind that was the Destroyer. An unfailing, untiring guardian, it stood in silent sentry over the weapons there, some barely more powerful than its own magic. The Destroyer might go a thousand years without ever emerging – and the instant someone tried to remove an item and triggered its spell, it would activate and use the full force of fire and metal to stop anything in its path.  
  
But on the other side of the grate that hid the Destroyer was a small stone plinth, and suspended above that plinth was possibly the deadliest trophy in that room.  
  
It was a sword, long and sharp and unspeakably ancient, the kind of thick blade meant to be wielded by two hands. From hilt to blade it was covered in runes, symbols and writings. The surface fairly glinted with powerful darkest magic.  
  
The very tip of the sword was embedded in the stone. The rest of it was bound by thick black chains, wrapping around and crossing back and forth from either side, and fastened securely to the wall.  
  
There was an aura around it that served as a warning to the corrosive power that emanated from within. Even a layman could sense just by looking that it was dangerous to be touched.  
  
And the sword had hung there for over two decades with hardly anyone coming near it. Its magic purposeless, untapped.  
  
Until in the middle of that night, when it began to minutely but perceptibly vibrate. A strange low, almost inaudible hum began coming from within.  
  
There was no one there to see it when it started, unfortunately. And it would be awhile before anyone noticed - if at all. Even during the changing of their shifts the guards never looked too closely at any of the weapons, out of habit.  
  
But it was as if despite being an inanimate object the sword pulled against its chains, straining, like a caged beast that yearned to break free.  
  
It was if it sensed that out there, somewhere, was the hand to which its hilt belonged once again.   
  
And it longed to be held.  
  
*  
  
It had been a long, long time since Selene used her magic to transport herself across the realms directly. A long time since she had been willing to waste the energy, or felt the need.  
  
But she had changed – grown in different ways both weaker and stronger. Warped, by her time trapped in the dark.  
  
And, perhaps most importantly, she had a goal in mind she was driven to accomplish: revenge.  
  
The circles of enchantment she drew brought her to the ground on Asgard just outside the front gates of the palace.  
  
Selene stepped forward before the golden edifice, her footing uncertain and sliding, her head woozy. She’d drained up most of her power by bringing herself to her far-off destination. But no matter – so long as she was where she needed to be.  
  
Lifting her head she looked at towering peaks and spirals with half-lidded eyes.  
  
“So, this is Asgard,” she remarked in a murmur.   
  
She had never seen it before. Almost funny, considering how many enemies she had drawn from the land and pitted herself against over the years.  
  
There was a commotion and slowly she turned her head. One of the gates had opened, and rushing forward armed with long spears was about a half a dozen Asgardian guards.  
  
They were all tall men, young, strong to look at. They wore armor emblazoned with sunbursts and horned helmets, capes flapping behind them dramatically as they ran.  
  
Selene tilted her chin to scent the air, sniffing deep at the power present between all of them.  
  
The guards reached where Selene was and fanned out in front of her, forming a crescent shape that had her almost completely surrounded. As a one they lowered their weapons, pointed straight at her body. They eyed her with the angry unblinking distrust of soldiers doing their jobs.  
  
“Halt,” one of them ordered her loudly. “You are an unidentified intruder here, and a trespasser on the royal lands. Throw down any weapons you have and declare yourself.”  
  
Selene’s body moved sinuously, almost drunkenly. And when she turned to meet the guard’s gaze her eyes were hazy, like one past the brink of exhaustion.  
  
Still she took one step to the side, spread her arms and drew a slow hissing breath, smiling mirthlessly as she gave her response:   
  
“No.”  
  
“So be it!” The same guard grit his teeth and moved forward, stabbing viciously with his spear.  
  
Selene made no effort to evade. She was impaled through her right side between breast and shoulder, bending backwards slightly from the force behind the blow. She made a pained sound but then she smiled again, and chuckled wheezily.  
  
And then rapidly she yanked one fist over the other, walking them along the length of the spear to pull the shocked guardsman closer to her before he stood even a chance to react.  
  
As the other guards shouted senselessly to one another, panicking, she grabbed her prey by the front of the throat and brought him in close to feed. Her mouth opened wide and there was the deep hollow roar of the vacuum as she began draining him. A golden light flickered off of him, disappearing inside Selene. Before long with an agonized wail that was cut off abruptly his body disintegrated, and Selene ate up every last bit.  
  
She actually licked her lips, briefly, and gave a satiated sigh as with one hand she effortlessly tugged free the spear from her body.  
  
As she snapped it in two, pieces falling to the ground, the hole in her flesh swiftly mended.  
  
And something indefinable had changed about Selene’s appearance too. Her stance was more steady, the cast to her skin no longer sickly. She had grown much, much stronger in an instant.  
  
“The sweet life’s force of an indomitable Asgardian,” she breathed. “How long it has been.” She rolled her head and then refocused on the other men in a snap, her expression manic, energized. “That  _alone_  almost makes it worth the trip.”  
  
The guards were white with terror. But still they would not be so easily deterred. Forming a second wave half the men braced themselves and rushed at her.  
  
They did not fare any better than the first.  
  
Selene’s reflexes and strength were far more than human now. She blocked one attacker with a sweep of her forearm, then bounded over the second in a high leap. Landing behind him before he could take in what was happening, she snapped his neck, only pausing long enough to drain a mouthful of energy before tossing him aside.  
  
She snapped her fingers and pointed at another guard in a fluid gesture. A bolt of crackling blue magic struck him and he dropped down instantly, dead. The man that’d been standing next to him was paralyzed and Selene threw herself at him, ripping his chest apart with her bare hands.  
  
There were only two men left. They exchanged a look and then spun around, running back the way they had come to get help.  
  
Selene rushed forward, faster than they had been expecting. She snatched at the edge of one’s cape, dragging him back to her. The other didn’t look back but he heard his screams, then him dying with a gasp and gurgle, before there was that awful roaring sound.  
  
The sorceress let the last one get almost to the gate before she stopped him.  
  
She used magic to change the stone underneath his feet to mud. He sunk in up to his ankles and tripped, falling forward hard onto his face. His weapon fell from his hand and as he grasped for it she walked over and circled around, kicking it out of his reach.  
  
“So much for the grand reputation of Asgard. I thought warriors, even common guardsmen like you, would be made of stronger mettle,” she sneered.  
  
The young man pushed up onto his hands and knees, helmet knocked askew, eyeing her beneath his sweaty brow. At least he seemed bound to face his death with determination.  
  
Selene cocked her head at him. “The thing is, I’m not even here for you,” she told him. “Tantalizing as your power is to me, I could care less.” Her voice became harsher, stilted, purposeful. “I am here with one very specific target in mind.”  
  
She stalked towards him, one foot in front of the other.  
  
“I am going to ask you one question. And if you can give me the answer, I might just spare your life.”  
Picking the Asgardian up by the front of his breastplate she lifted him out of the mud, pulling him so that their faces were level, their noses less than an inch apart. Her cold eyes bore fiercely into his.  
  
“Where is the one called Loki?” she demanded.  _“Where?”_  
  
The guard stammered but shook his head, and was unable to give a response. Selene frowned at him.  
  
“No answer?” she deduced, disappointed. “Too bad.”  
  
And within less than a minute she had consumed him too.  
  
Selene stood there, looking around and dusting herself off distractedly. From behind she sensed a flicker of movement.  
  
“Ask and ye shall receive, woman.”  
  
Turning around quickly she beheld a new arrival standing there: a slender male who spread his arms and bowed to her mockingly. Though his clothes were of Asgardian make he wore no armor, but bright colors that made him look something like a jester. His build was slight, his hair was red-gold, and he had an impish, supercilious smile.  
  
Selene frowned, giving the stranger a wary look of scrutiny. “Who are you?”  
  
“Why, am I the one you were apparently looking for!” He had a reedy but musical-sounding voice. He chuckled, apparently amused. “Call my name out loud so  _forcefully_ , and what choice do I have to come running?”  
  
She looked him head to toe. “ _You_  are Loki,” she repeated, flat.  
  
He laid a hand flat across his chest. “What, does my appearance not live up to my reputation? But yes; I am he. Loki Laufeyjarson, Wordsmith and Trickster, Master of Many Faces, God of Fire, Mischief and Deceit.”  
  
He bowed again, this time with even more of a flourish. The whole time he kept his gaze on the woman standing opposite to him – his smile never flickered, but it was a canny and ominous smile. His eyes sparkled coldly, in a manner that suggested the wheels were already turning, and the ideas they crafted were far more to his amusement than the well-being of any other.  
  
“Laufeyjarson,” Selene echoed to herself in a low mutter. “Not Odinson. I see.”  
  
There was a…certain resemblance to the Loki she had known. Something about the face, and the posture of the body, the way he carried himself. But though they had a name and the generality of an identity in common there was more about them that was different than was similar.  
  
When she had dragged herself out of the shadow realm she had known there was a chance she could end up just about anywhere. Any time, any place.  
  
And it seemed when the cosmic veil finally aligned enough to allow her to break free, it had brought her too far, or not far enough. She was in an entirely different reality than her own.  
  
Well. She had already anticipated, and planned for as much.  
  
The being that this world identified as Loki looked to her with eyes bright, feigning an overdone mask of disappointment and surprise.  
  
“But I confess you have caught me off-guard, my lady. I know not who you are, nor what it is from me that you desire. I, er, know I haven’t seen  _you_  around Asgard before,” he remarked, laying a finger aside his mouth, and walking almost around her. He appeared thoughtful as he took in her ghastly pale skin, her ripped and black clothes.  
  
Selene deigned not to notice.  
  
“Oh, but I do have business with you,” she decided out loud. “I seek the one called Loki. And if you’re what’s here,” she rotated back to face him, unblinking, “you’ll just have to do.”  
  
The Trickster laughed. “But I can assure you, there is no other called Loki! For who else would lay claim to that name but me?” He smirked in amusement. “I am the only one of my kind. There can only  _be_  one Loki.”  
  
Selene gave a smile of her own.  
  
“On this world, anyway,” she said meaningfully.  
  
The Loki of this dimension was a prankster, a mischief-maker. A feckless roamer who taunted the other gods and mortals for spite. He may have had much in the way of magic, and he may have been powerful indeed, but he had no idea what he was facing.  
  
He was used to beings who would play along with his little games. He never took himself or anything else seriously. He tricked and outsmarted anyone with words. He was woefully unprepared for a real fight.  
  
And it wasn’t long before Selene had permanently wiped the grin off of his face.  
  
As she stood blood-splattered over this Loki’s lifeless corpse, she narrowed her eyes and canted her head to the side as she looked for something.  
  
The Trickster god had died with eyes wide, a look of shock and fear etched into his formerly merry visage. His red-gold curls were ruined by the pool of his own blood that he lay in. But Selene paid attention to none of that – she was looking past it.  
  
Past the physical, through to the energy that surrounded the deceased Loki and was part of his make-up. His life’s force was fading away, melting into someplace beyond. But more than that. In the void it left as it went away there was briefly a ripple in the fabric of space and time.  
  
Selene laced her fingers together, crouching down. Her eyes almost crossed with intense focus she began to chant.  
  
Before it could escape her with her magic she ceased hold of that fraying edge to reality, and tugged at it, and forced it viciously apart.  
  
A small portal was made. Another rift between worlds, incredibly temporary and with a single fixed and unpredictable destination. But it was there all the same, for Selene to use.  
  
And use it she would.  
  
Selene dropped her arms again and straightened up, standing tall. She glanced back at the palace behind her, to the unfamiliar Asgardian sky.  
  
Not the right universe that she was seeking. Not the home to the right Loki, the object of her intended revenge.  
  
But many worlds were connected somehow, strung out along a line. And the parallel life forces of the same beings who existed simultaneously in different dimensions were connected too. Tenuously, in a way that was hard to master, hard to see. But connected all the same, in a way that could be used to one’s advantage.  
  
Selene would kill and kill again. And each time, she would use that connection across worlds to let her go onto the next. And the next. And the  _next._  Until she got it right.  
  
Glancing down she took one last dispassionate gaze at the dead Loki that lay, blood-soaked and maimed, at her feet.  
  
“One down,” she murmured. And then quickly stepping forward she crept inside and jumped through the waiting portal.  
  
“…Who knows how many left to go.”


	2. Counterpoint

It was morning on Asgard, and the first thing Darcy was aware of was someone moving next to her where she was lying in her bed.  
  
With a stifled, drowsy sound she rolled over and lifted her head.   
  
Loki stopped where he was in the middle of getting dressed and leaned back over to kiss her, smiling.  
  
“Go back to sleep,” he told her. Pacified, Darcy was already settling back down to do so, her eyes closing as he promised, “I’ll see you later.”  
  
She had never been an early riser. Loki normally usually was. It made sharing a bed difficult, sometimes. But the pillows were soft beneath her head and the blankets were nice and warm. Before long she drifted back into dreamland.  
  
Just another cozy, happy ‘good morning’ that had become part of the usual for the two of them.  
  
Darcy woke up again later, more fully, and taking her time went into the adjoining bathroom to take a bath and wash her hair.  
  
By the time she returned she found Siún had come in and was already making the bed and tidying up.  
  
“Good day, Milady.”  
  
“I swear, no matter what, you’re always awake and dressed before me,” Darcy exclaimed as she came over and sat in front of her dressing table. “Do you just never sleep?”  
  
Siún gave a faint smile. “One could say it’s part of a handmaiden’s duty,” she said lightly. “Besides, we can’t all give away our secrets.”  
  
“Ha! No, maybe not.” Leaning forward Darcy tugged at the area of skin beneath her lower eye. She frowned over the wrinkles she knew her husband would insist weren’t even there. With a practiced air Siún came over and picked up a silver brush, and began slowly attending to Darcy’s dark locks.  
  
“I think you gave my daughter and your son quite the start when you interrupted them last night,” she remarked offhandedly.  
  
“I didn’t mean to.” Darcy complained, “It’s not like they were even, y’know, doing anything. It’s all whispers and hand-holding with those two.”  
  
“I think it’s sweet.”  
  
“It  _is_  sweet. Sickeningly so. They’re not in middle school, for crying out loud.” She shrugged. “Oh well. At least nobody can say they don’t genuinely like each other.”  
  
Siún made a sound of agreement. “If all goes well they’re looking at a happy and fortunate future together,” she said softly. “It was a good match, for a betrothal.”  
  
Darcy only absently nodded.  
  
By the time Siún and Volstagg’s daughter approached puberty it became clear her parents had a serious problem. The only thing Noor inherited from her father was his gorgeous red hair – other than that she took completely after her mother. It made her one of the most beautiful girls in Asgard.   
  
And every family with an unmarried son had noticed it too.  
  
Volstagg was being harried by prospective suitors and fathers-in-law for permission to court his daughter before she even turned twelve. To save his sanity, and protect Noor from too much unwanted attention, there’d been an agreement to promise her in marriage to Austen.  
  
He was a similar age and their parents were friends and he was a prince, so it looked good on paper. Darcy had opposed the idea of arranged marriages for any of her children, but she mollified herself with the thought that this wasn’t a “real” one. There’d always been an understanding that when the two got older, there’d be no objection from their parents if they wanted to break the engagement.  
  
But Noor and Austen  _had_  gotten older and if anything they only seemed to be getting fonder of one another. Both were quiet and shy, and Darcy wasn’t even sure  _what_  it was they found to talk about when they spent hours sitting alone together.   
  
A few more years, and they’d be old enough it would be appropriate for them to actually marry. It looked like the arrangement wasn’t going to end in being quietly broken off, but in a walk down the aisle.  
  
From where she was still working at her lady’s hair with the brush, Siún lifted her eyes to meet Darcy’s gaze in the mirror.  
  
“What do you feel like wearing today?”  
  
“I think I’ll go more casual.” Darcy yawned. “It’s been at least a week since I’ve worn anything but a gown. Pull out some of the nicer Midgard clothes.”  
  
“Of course. Do you still want me to do your makeup and dress your hair?”  
  
“Hells yeah.” At the princess’ flippancy her friend of many years only smiled. “What’s the point of being royalty if you can’t at least somewhat look the part?”  
  
Having servants had made Darcy lazy. She didn’t even try to deny that. And spoiled – she was probably spoiled too.   
  
But heck; that was what she had married into. Everywhere she went people bent over backwards and smiled for her attention, ready and eager to wait on her hand and foot.   
  
And after spending her young adulthood up to her eyeballs in student loan debt and living off pop tarts and ramen, now she lived a life where she’d never ever have to worry about money again. Even when she visited Earth she had a black credit card and an invitation to all the exclusive shopping boutiques.  
  
She tried not to take  _too_  much advantage of it. But she definitely enjoyed it.  
  
By the time Darcy left her bedroom she was wearing designer heels, a pair of exquisitely tailored black slacks that’d boasted a price-tag that made her buy them for the ‘why not’ factor, and a warmly colored cashmere sweater. Her face had that slight glow from the flawless airbrush effect (somehow achieved, in this case, without an actual airbrush) and her hair was half-gathered up in a loose and artfully messy style that looked beautifully simple but in fact took a long time and a lot of precise work to achieve.  
  
She didn’t exactly strut down the hallway, because no matter how much her awesome had increased over the years, Darcy had never become quite coordinated enough to pull off a convincing strut. But there was something that could be described as a smug bounce in her step.  
  
Asgard was in that morning lull where the palace itself was awake and guards and servants could be found everywhere, taking care of business, but otherwise the rooms were mostly empty. Darcy strolled her way through some of her favorite open-aired terraces overlooking one of the smaller courtyards. There were fountains and potted ferns and fresh air and everything looked buttery golden from the rays of sunshine.  
  
This was also an area of the palace closer to the royal chambers, so it wasn’t surprising if she crossed paths with her family. She came across Austen sitting on the edge of some marble steps leading down to a garden, back leaning against a column.  
  
He was half-hidden in shadows and reading a book he held in his hands. He looked up at the sound of his mother’s approach and she greeted him with a smile.  
  
“Hey there. Good morning, kiddo. How we doing today?”  
  
“I’m fine, Mom.” He smiled automatically in return.   
  
Out of all their kids he was the one Darcy felt occasionally disoriented looking at; he had the strongest combination of both his parents’ features. When his face moved she could see the little bits of her and Loki smushed in there together.   
  
Sometimes when he was small she’d find herself just gazing at Austen in a kind of awe, a voice in her head going over and over  _‘We made him’._  
  
But that was before. These days what she mostly saw was how he kept getting older, how he wasn’t a baby or even a boy anymore but a young man. “Mind if I sit?”  
  
“Of course you can.” He scooted over for her obligingly. Darcy made herself comfortable, crossing her legs and balancing by resting both her hands flat.  
  
“You know, I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry if it sounded like I was telling you off last night.”  
  
Austen ducked his head, briefly avoiding her gaze. “No, it’s all right,” he mumbled. “You didn’t.”  
  
“Because if anything I’m glad that you and Noor are getting along together,” she persisted. “I just don’t want you spending every waking moment with each other, especially if you think you have to. If we’re really going to go through this with the two of you, I want you to be sure.”  
  
His face heated up but unhesitantly he met her eyes again. “Of course I’m sure. I love her.”  
  
Darcy was momentarily put into silence by the heartfelt simplicity behind that confession. She fought back her urge to challenge it because he was young, to ask if he was  _sure_  he really felt that way.  
  
Instead she waited a beat, cocked her head and with a different smile changed the subject.  
  
“School’s starting again soon,” she reminded him. “Are you looking forward to heading back to Cornell?”  
  
Austen shrugged, looked at his book and then with less enthusiasm than she’d have liked said, “Yes. Sure.”  
  
Darcy couldn’t help but frown. Not disapprovingly but worried. Austen could be a little closed-off at times, but still. Sometimes she wondered.  
  
It had always been Darcy’s intention that her children get the best of both worlds. She didn’t want them to just be princes and princesses of Asgard, she argued; she wanted them to spend time on Earth too. Have their own small lives there – preferably get an education. Just so that they didn’t feel trapped into one thing.  
  
But her first active attempt at fulfilling this goal had been an unmitigated disaster. When he was a teenager, their eldest boy had been sent to live and go to high school with his mortal cousin. Unfortunately Wyclef’s personality and that of the other boy had egged each other on in the worst possible way, culminating in the two of them getting arrested for vandalism and shoplifting. After getting both of them bailed out Darcy had immediately dragged Wyclef back home.  
  
Loki had been far from amused when for the first time seeing his son in months, Wyclef had a silver ring in each ear, black nails, and his eyes thickly painted in liquid eyeliner.  
  
After that for the most part Darcy had given up, except for dropping the occasional hopeful hint to her children that  _maybe_  they would like to take the SATs, just in case? But except for what they picked up from her, Midgard culture was mostly dismissively ignored.  
  
(Wyclef had thankfully given up on the emo kid makeup, though he continued wearing the earrings and nail polish. There were times when Darcy was convinced Loki was  _still_  holding it against her.)  
  
Austen however had decided to go to college after all, a turn of events which had made his mother hug him and cry.  
  
He was gone most of the year, diligently studying for a double major in Medieval Literature and Theoretical Physics, in addition to the fact that when he was on Asgard he was striving to be both a sorcerer  _and_  a warrior; oh, and he was still engaged. Thrilled as she was Darcy was seriously concerned her boy was going to stress himself out until he was ready to explode.  
  
She looked at Austen somberly and waited until she was sure he was looking back at her.  
  
“You know,” she told him, earnest, “as glad as you’ve made me and your father, I hope you’re not just doing these things because you know it’s what we want. The whole point is that it’s supposed to be what  _you_  want, too.” She tapped his chest, near his heart. “Promise me you’re not making yourself crazy for no good reason, okay? No matter what, all I want is for you to be happy.”  
  
“I know.” Austen’s response was mild at best. He opened his book again, hiding his face behind it and studiously dismissing her. “This is what I want, Mom. Really.”  
  
It was impossible to tell if he was hiding something or just being emotionally restrained. Darcy gave a loud sigh.  
  
“And you’d tell me, if you changed your mind about something?” she pressed.  
  
Austen gave a distracted nod. “Uh huh.”  
  
Darcy gave up. At least if he had a breakdown, she knew they’d be there to pick up the pieces. She said goodbye to him and continued on her way.  
  
The well-known sounds to her of children playing caught her ears. Stepping down into the courtyard her head turned, listening, until finally she spotted Jane sitting cross-legged over in a patch of grass.  
  
Asgard’s Queen looked a bit disjointed. She was wearing a light flowing dress in the traditional style, but had distractedly thrown on one of her beat-up flannel shirts over it, unbuttoned. Her hair was carelessly brushed and Darcy could’ve sworn she saw smudges of ink on her fingertips, left over from poring over pages of equations.  
  
But there were no books of notes in her lap at present. Instead she was smiling as she bounced her youngest, holding his arms up as she encouraged him to walk. Cordelia was nearby coloring, and Arthur raced about in circles, making noises as he played some game by himself that only made sense to a little boy.  
  
Darcy waved at her. Looking up, Jane returned her grin and gestured her over.  
  
“Look, Magni. It’s your Aunt Darcy. Can you say ‘hi’ to Aunt Darcy?” Jane encouraged.  
  
“Drag’nfry!” Magni screamed excitedly, breaking free from her grip and half flailing, half crawling after the insect he saw flying by.  
  
Jane rolled her eyes in fond exasperation and turned to the other woman with an apologetic shrug.  
  
“I get that a lot,” Darcy deadpanned.  
  
Jane laughed. “Sit down.” She patted the grass. “Anything new to talk about this morning?”  
  
“I think Austen is turning into you, but, like, worse.” Darcy sat, only half-checking to make sure she wasn’t getting stains on her nice clothes. “And he and Noor are well on their way to kissy-face love central. Other than that, nothing.”  
  
Jane gave a thoughtful smile, looking up. “Young love,” she remarked. “Remember when we were like that?”  
  
“You and Thor are  _still_  like that,” Darcy pointed out. “Instead of being like an old married couple, sometimes you still coo over each other like little kids.”  
  
Jane gave her a slightly sour look. But then her expression changed as she looked over at her children, watching as Cordelia flipped to a fresh page in her Famous Women Scientists coloring book and Arthur had hunched down to chatter excitedly at his little brother.  
  
“I guess we should have outgrown that by now, huh?” Jane commented. But she shook her head, absently putting a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I can’t explain why it hasn’t happened. That’s just the way that we are.”  
  
“Dude, you don’t have to apologize. It’s not like I actually  _mind_.” Darcy pulled a face. “Okay, maybe sometimes I do, when the two of you are being especially ridiculous. And I know I complain sometimes, but mostly I don’t mean it. There’s nothing wrong with the fact that after all these years of being married, you and Thor are  _still_  in love.”  
  
Jane chuckled, a little. “And we are, aren’t we? Who would’ve thought.”  
  
“Oh yeah,” Darcy returned sarcastically. “After watching you two moon over each other in your early days, who could’ve ever seen that one coming.”  
  
“Love isn’t always enough,” Jane reminded her, a touch more serious. “And things don’t always work out.” She got to her feet, heading over to intervene between Arthur and Magni, who were getting a little rough in their play. “I know I had my doubts at times.”  
  
“I know.” Darcy followed her, concurring. “And sometimes they were warranted. But the thing is, you kept trying.”  
  
She smirked as she watched Jane gather up her fussing youngest in her arms, her other son tugging her skirt and her daughter coming over to see what was happening.  
  
“And look,” Darcy finished. “It all turned out for the best.”   
  
*  
  
Darcy was frowning to herself as she slunk her way around the lab.  
  
Now that part, to be frank, she didn’t really appreciate. Sure, her major might have ‘only’ been in Poly-Sci, but she had worked long and hard to be taken seriously and earn her right to be in the lab.  
  
It didn’t matter that thanks to SHIELD’s “vested interest” and shiny new funding they had a bigger facility, a new more climate-diverse location, a bunch of extra equipment and a whole slew of bodies to wander around and help with making the science happen. These lab techs with their white coats and nametags had nothing on her. She was Jane’s assistant, damn it! Sure; it was a bit more like her  _personal_  assistant, slash secretary, since most of Darcy’s duties basically revolved around being a gofer and handing her things. But that didn’t matter. Why, if she wasn’t here, none of this would be up and running!  
  
If only because she was the one who pulled Jane’s head out of the clouds when it was time to submit her budget reports. Despite her love of procrastination, when it came down to the wire Darcy Lewis got shit  _done._  
  
But despite her being easily the second most important person in the entire building, after Jane (she might have settled for third, if Erik hadn’t taken an extended leave of personal time after certain incidents in Manhattan), here Darcy was sneaking around like at any moment she was afraid of being spotted. And why?  
  
Well, frankly, it was because she was afraid of being spotted.  
  
But not by any of the techs or scientists working there, no siree. Far as she was concerned they could kiss her-  
  
A nearby elevator door swooshed open and Darcy instinctively lunged out of the way behind some big hulking piece of equipment, taking cover.  
  
A pair of people wandered past – one of them wearing a white coat and the other a suit that identified them as a SHIELD agent. They didn’t spare a second glance Darcy’s direction, too busy chatting over something on a clipboard.  
  
After they were gone she got back up from where she’d ducked down, sticking her tongue out at their retreating backs in petty revenge. Then she resumed her stealthy prowl.  
  
Finally she came around a corner and found what she was looking for.  
  
Jane was inside the room that’d been serving as her private lab. There were tables there, and several computers, and a lot of graphs and charts tacked up and scattered about haphazardly. Crammed in the corner was Jane’s desk which was buried in a stack of books, the chair rendered unusable by virtue of loadbearing for a similar pile. The space was kind of small and had none of the better equipment, but it was Jane’s own space where she could be left alone with her thoughts, and a lot of times that was what she really needed.  
  
But at present Jane wasn’t alone in there. There was someone else with her. Someone who was having an insistent, one-sided conversation, and not getting the hint that maybe he should leave.  
  
“Jane, please. Speak to me,” Thor entreated. He stood a short distance behind her, clad in his red cape and full-on Viking armor, occasionally gesturing and pacing back and forth.  
  
He took up more space, and seemed even more consciously out of place, than Darcy remembered.  
  
“I  _am_  speaking to you, Thor.” Jane’s voice was calm. She had her eye to an electron microscope, examining something, and occasionally she moved to adjust a setting or jot down a note. But she never turned around. “It’s just that right now I’m in the middle of something.”  
  
Wincing, Darcy did her best to duck behind a doorframe while still being able to watch them both. She was far away enough probably neither of them would notice her movement. It’d be a lot easier if there weren’t so many doors and panels that were made of glass however.  
  
Of course the easiest thing for her would to not be eavesdropping at all. But what could she say? She wanted to see how things were going with their reunion.  
  
So far, the answer to that seemed to be: not good.  
  
“I am sorry for my interruption, truly. I remember how important your work is to you,” Thor said, pleadingly. “It is only that I thought it best I come right away, considering how long I have already kept you waiting.”  
  
Jane straightened up. But there was a displeased look on her face, and now she was definitely making a point not to look at Thor when she turned around.  
  
“I wasn’t  _waiting_  for you,” she reminded him, curt. She brushed past him and headed for a shelf full of binders, which she started rifling through with excess energy. “I’m not the type to stand around, waiting.”  
  
“That isn’t what I meant.” Coming closer he rested a big hand on her shoulder. “Jane,  _please_.”  
  
She stilled under his touch and after an uncertain moment she sighed. At last she turned around to meet his gaze, though only after holding out long enough that he’d gotten the hint and started pulling his hand away from her shoulder.  
  
“I know that it isn’t,” she admitted, quiet. “But, come on, what do you expect me to say?” She raised her arms and moved her head in almost mocking fashion. “‘Oh hey there, fancy you being in the neighborhood, glad you could stop by. Wanna take up right where we left off’?”  
  
“Continuing at once from where we had parted was not what I automatically expected,” Thor returned, gently. “But, I had had some hopes. It is…what I would have liked.”  
  
Jane’s mouth opened but she didn’t seem at first to know what to say to that. She glanced down, then back up at Thor again. All the while without quite meaning to her body swayed closer to his, as if drawn in by their undeniable chemistry.  
  
Thor put a hand on her shoulder again, half steadying her, half drawing her further into his embrace. With the other hand he caressed the side of her cheek faintly.  
  
“I know that I made promises,” he said to her. “Promises that I was not able to keep - at least not as soon as I would’ve liked to. But please know that despite it nothing has changed.” His voice dropped a note, intense and breathy. “I still feel the same for you. All this time, I kept up my hopes, supported by the affection that burns within my heart.”  
  
Jane held her ground and didn’t lean in any further. “It’s been over a year.”  
  
“I  _know_.” Thor sounded frustrated, though not necessarily at her. “But I – the Bifrost was damaged, and then-”  
  
“And then you did come back to Earth,” Jane interrupted. “And then you were here for only a couple of days, just long enough to make some new friends, and then you were gone again, just like that.” She broke free and made for the same table again. “I know I was in Norway but you didn’t even try to find me. I had to find out about the fact that you’d been here from the news!”  
  
“I knew where you were,” Thor protested. “I knew that you were safe, and far away from the damage you could suffer if you were drawn into my brother’s mischief. Alas it was all I had time to care about.”  
  
He sounded positively mournful. From where Darcy was standing, the look on his face made her cringe and want to give him a hug. Jane couldn’t see his face; she was standing in front of her table, leaning forward slightly with her weight on her hands.  
  
She let out a breath, heavily, leaning further and closing her eyes.  
  
“It was out of your control. I understand,” she finally said, simply, composing herself once more. “I don’t blame you for that.”  
  
There was an undercurrent in her tone though that said she totally did blame him for that – she only couldn’t admit it, even to herself, because that would be against the one hundred percent rational and logic-driven being Jane liked to picture herself as.  
  
“Then I do not understand.” Thor let his hands hang in a futile shrug. “If not that then what is the problem?”  
  
Jane stood up, crossing her arms tight. She dropped her gaze again, eyelids lowering. “The problem is…the problem is time.”  
  
Thor looked at her in bemused silence, and she turned around to stare up at him, her face screwed up like she was overwhelmed with her emotions.  
  
“What happened between us in New Mexico, Thor…”she shook her head; “There was a connection there, I can’t deny it.” She smiled, stifling an unlikely laugh. “Almost from the moment I first met you there were some serious sparks flying.”  
  
“Mm, I remember.” Thor returned her smile with one of his own, both fond and suggestive.  
  
Coming closer he picked up her hand, holding her eyes as he gave it a gentlemanly, meaningful kiss.  
  
Jane dropped her gaze, face heating up, and bit her lip. She let him give his kiss and didn’t interrupt him.  
  
But the moment he was finished she gently but firmly tugged her hand back away.  
  
“Except it didn’t get to last. It – whatever it was we had – got interrupted before it had any chance to really get going.” She shook her head again, apologetic. But convinced. Decisive. “And then a year went by and I started to wonder if any of it was real to begin with-”  
  
“It was,” Thor exclaimed, horrified.  
  
“I know,” she stressed precisely. She blinked once, hard, before continuing. “But a lot of other things happened in the meantime. To both of us, I’m sure. And I’m just not sure-”  
  
Her words hung there in the air, which was writ with tension. Darcy leaned a little more forward in her hiding space, feeling as riveted as if she was watching a train wreck, or a soap opera.  
  
Thor was as caught up in the tension himself, if not more, understandably. He took a step towards Jane, looking at her like he thought if he stared hard enough, with eyes wide enough, everything she had to say would make sense to him.  
  
“What, Jane? What are you unsure about?”  
  
She sighed again. Her expression was sympathetic, but it looked like there was a lump in her throat.  
  
“Maybe all we had was a window,” she explained sadly. “Maybe there was a window of opportunity where something could have happened, where maybe you and I could’ve gotten together. But it passed, through circumstances not entirely under our control, and now…who knows. It could just be too late.”  
  
It took Thor what seemed like a solid minute to recover from that blow.  
  
“I don’t believe that,” he said stubbornly, voice thick.  
  
“ _Thor._  I’m sorry, but-”  
  
“No.” He wouldn’t let her finish, his expression of determination nearly grim in its sheer intensity. “Forgive me, Jane. I do not mean to dismiss your feelings and if you want I should take my leave, I will respect that. But I will not give up on us so easily. On  _you_.”   
  
He breathed in.  
  
“As you said, time has passed. And I have waited for you throughout it. I will wait for you a little while longer still.”  
  
They stared each other down as Jane pressed one hand to the base of her throat.  
  
“And if it turns out you’ve waited in vain?” she inquired, finally.  
  
“I only hope that it does not come to be so.” Thor moved to go, stepping sideways so that he turned regally past her. “For now, I bid you farewell. I will be in your New York – the Man of Iron has offered me hospitality in the tower he has built.” He hesitated, glancing back.   
  
“I…I am to understand that the tools he and Dr. Banner have there at their disposal are most impressive. If you wish to visit, and see them, you need only ask. I will make certain they grant you access.”  
  
And with that goodbye he turned back again and strode out of the room.  
  
Outside Darcy swiftly pushed away from the wall and pulled out her iPod, looking down at it and acting as if she’d been fiddling with it already.  
  
“Oh hey there, Thor,” she said in a rapid-fire murmur, voice overly nonchalant as she avoided his eyes, “what a coincidence running into you, I totally didn’t see you or have any idea you were there at all…”  
  
She trailed off when it became clear he had no intention to speak to her. He just kept on moving down the hallway until he was out of sight, gone. She wondered if he’d take an elevator to the surface before he flew off or if he’d just punch a hole straight through in his frustration.  
  
Not that she was holding it against him, his not saying hi to her. They’d already exchanged a particularly excited, squealing and hugging greeting earlier, when he’d first arrived.  
  
Darcy lowered her iPod and looked back into the lab at Jane. The other woman still hadn’t realized she was there, and in Thor’s wake was sort of listlessly drifting back and forth, hugging one arm to her body.  
  
Now it was Darcy’s turn to sigh. On the one hand she really wanted to run in there and shake her. Guys like Thor didn’t come along every day after all – on top of everything else awesome about him he was a bona fide  _god_  and a superhero.  
  
But Jane’s perspective on it, unfortunately, wasn’t exactly crazy either. Maybe the magic was gone now. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.  
  
It was still supremely tragic, though. Who would’ve thought the odds would turn out to be so against them?  
  
*  
  
Another evening on Jotunheim had come that was like any other. Quiet, cold, and beset by low and howling winds. Out in the frozen fields no giants moved about, nor any of the few creatures capable of living in the hostile realm. All was empty darkness, the snowdrifts shifting, the wind giving a sharp whistle as it moved between the peaks of jagged rocks.  
  
Overlooking this expanse was the half-ruined citadel that served as Laufey’s palace. Here too was mostly silence, and stillness. This part of their world was nearly deserted, and even Frost Giants needed to sleep.  
  
Alone on the ramparts stood a single figure, a Jotun by shape and color though unusually small. It lingered at the top of one of the tallest towers, clad in layers of thin pelts and secondhand chainmail.  
  
Loki gazed with impassive scrutiny out on his father’s kingdom, and then tilted his head back to look upward to the night sky above.  
  
A thin winter’s fog obscured the air, as always, but the stars still shone brightly through. The Jotun prince watched them for a while then dropped his gaze again. Pushing away from the wall, he sighed, and continued about his walk.  
  
There was, quite frankly, not much for a restless soul to do on Jotunheim at this hour. And few were also awake that one could pass the time with, though in truth Loki did not mind this part so much. He’d always preferred his solitude.  
  
His thoughts wandered haphazardly as he rounded the winding paths along the tower’s edge, crossing from one end of the battlements to the other. All around him the world existed in stark contrast, practically nothing but shades of black and white.  
  
Suddenly he stopped still, attentions warily captured. He could’ve sworn he saw something move out of the corner of his eye.  
  
Listening sharply his red eyes narrowed. Without fully turning his head he kept careful watch on the courtyard below.  
  
There; among the rocks and ice. There was a flicker, too fast and out of place to be anything natural.  
  
Loki rushed to the edge, fingers curling to grasp the edge of the stone wall as he leaned forward, looking out, searching. He could make out no details, only a flash here and there as whatever it was beat a swift path through the courtyard, it seemed, and then up towards the stairs and the towers where Loki himself was standing.  
  
Quickly he started running himself, taking what would seem at the outset an unpredictable path, going around one tower and down a flight a stairs, only to zigzag and by a different set rise up again.  
  
He was as interested in getting closer to the intruder as he was fleeing them. So long as he kept on the move and maintained a distance between them, it gave him more time to study and try and figure out who and what they were.  
  
Who was it that came to Jotunheim in the dead of night, and slunk so easily in the layers of hidden expanses between snow and shadows?  
  
Bracing his back against a wall Loki raised his hands before himself, forming a long sharp icicle to use as a weapon. He thought he could make out footsteps when he held his breath. It sounded like the intruder was trying to get closer to where he was.  
  
Deciding to end the farce Loki dug his claws into the gaps between stones, with one hand hauling himself up to the top of the tower. Ice spike at the ready he came over to the side, poised for action as he gazed down.  
  
But there was nothing there. Loki frowned, bewildered.  
  
Something moved behind him. He spun just in the nick of time to parry the long knife thrust toward his face with his ice.  
  
Blades locked, the force behind the attack causing him to bend back slightly, he was met with the sight of a white-skinned humanoid with tangled black hair. She gave a long hiss as her eyes bore heatedly into his, baring a set of fangs.  
  
After a few intense moments Loki was able to push her off and away, but wound up sprawled on his back for his efforts.  
  
The strange, frightening attacker needed no recovery – she hurled herself at him again, this time with fingers curled, barehanded.  
  
Loki threw the icicle spear at her. She twisted one forearm in front of her face, blocking the blow and shattering the ice itself into fragments with alarming ease.  
  
He tried to get up. But it was already too late. She was on him, battering him, tearing at his throat. She produced another knife she must’ve had hidden in her sleeve and then stabbed him again and again in the torso.  
  
Reduced to a bloodied, pained mess, Loki hadn’t even time to scream. All he could do was gurgle helplessly.  
  
Even as he was in the process of dying, with her other hand the assassin pushed him back at the shoulder. The life fading from his eyes the Frost Giant fell, toppling over the edge of the tower. With a sickening thud he landed splayed on his back on the stones far below, and stayed there, motionless.  
  
With her face completely devoid of emotion Selene stood at the very edge of the tower and gazed down at his body, lowering her weapon, the wind pulling her hair and cloak back and forth.  
  
Already with her magic she was reaching out, finding the threads of her latest victim’s life’s force, pulling. Getting ready to journey onward to her next destination.  
  
*  
  
Deep underneath the brick foundations of abandoned tunnels, Loki sat cross-legged on the concrete floor. He’d been there, eyes closed, motionless for some time.  
  
The few rats that came down this far gave him a wide berth, scurrying around him nervously. As if in their small minds they somehow knew he was not to be interrupted.  
  
But now suddenly, fluidly, his eyes opened.  
  
His gaze fixed onto one insignificant point in heady concentration, he got to his feet.  
  
Save the creak from his leather-trimmed armor when he moved everything around him was silent. There was only the hum from the ancient light source above as it flickered; the dripping of condensation from a few no doubt long-forgotten pipes.  
  
Returning to the same place he’d used as his lair when last he’d been on Earth was admittedly something of a gamble. His enemies knew where it was (or the archer he’d held in his thrall did, in any case) and he ran the risk that it would be the first place they’d look.  
  
At the same time however…it was a move that was  _so_  careless, it stood a good chance they might not even consider it of him.  
  
And after his escape and the battle that followed, Loki was left weaker than he would’ve liked. He was impatient to find shelter, at least a temporary one while he gathered resources and plotted for his next move. Impatient enough he was willing to return to this familiar if inglorious territory instead of searching for something new.  
  
It was dirty, long abandoned, and of course empty – all the equipment and weapons that’d been brought there while it served as his primary base of operations having been removed by SHIELD. He was not the least surprised by that.  
  
It was no matter. He hadn’t wanted any of that, anyway. He was free now: of any pesky alliances or need to worry about what happened to the Tesseract. Free to form and pursue his own agenda.  
  
Free to remind this wretched world and the pathetic things that crawled upon it why he deserved to be called a god.  
  
And perhaps most crucially, free to come after the Avengers and their allies at his leisure, and take sweet satisfaction in defeating them.  
  
After he made them suffer a little, of course. There was no point in rushing things.  
  
His mistakes before had been all impulsive, angry ones. But let it never be said that Loki couldn’t learn his lesson. This time he would be more careful. This time, he would remember where his true strengths lay.  
  
At least, that had been the plan. But now after only a few days, something had come along to interrupt, to start troubling him.  
  
It had at first been almost nothing; easily dismissed. A prickle at the back of his mind – an unformed thought, a nagging burr. But it had continued on, and kept building. And intrinsically paranoid a creature as Loki was, he could ignore it no longer.  
  
There was something…somewhere, out there…that was tracing, or possibly even  _attacking_ , the energy that made up the very fabric of his being.  
  
Loki paced feverishly, mouth pressed into a thin line as he thought about what he should do next.  
  
Weak as the sensation was, it was nearly impossible to get any read on where it was coming from, or the particulars. That it came from a great distance was clear: right now it must be worlds, maybe even realities away. But what concerned him was what would happen when it began getting closer.  
  
He, or some version of him, was being targeted by somebody.  
  
His concerns almost immediately leapt to his last would-be keeper. He’d been assured he would receive pain as payment for failure, after all, and the Mad Titan was not the sort to break that kind of promise. But no – he shrugged off that particular worry. If  _that_  certain individual were after him, he would most assuredly know.  
  
He would have to deal with Thanos eventually, he knew – but not right now. Still it made him shudder internally just thinking the name.   
  
But no; set that difficulty aside for another day. Right now there were other more salient things to deal with.  
  
Loki stopped walking and stood in place, head turning, his eyes darting in time with what ideas flitted through his head. He was rapidly coming to what must be the only logical conclusion.  
  
Whoever or whatever it was that he sensed making this move against him, he wasn’t going to sit back and wait for the situation to resolve itself. He needed clarity, and needed it now. He would have to make the first move.  
  
Protect himself; guard his interests. Find out who it was he needed to look out for and destroy them. Leave no potential enemies that could come back to hurt him standing – even if the cause of their initial grievance was unknown to or unmarked by him.  
  
After all, when it came right down to it he hardly cared what the  _reasons_  were when beings made the regrettable mistake of getting in his way. He knocked them aside and cut them down, all the same.  
  
His eyes hooded, and burning cold, Loki gave a mirthless smirk as he determined what was to be his next move.


	3. Double Vision

The sun was shining especially brightly over the hills and fields of Asgard that day, which was only fitting given the occasion. In Breidablik, the beautiful home of Balder the Bright, all was laid out in preparation. It had been cleaned until there was not a speck of dust and everything shone. Tables were spread with clean white sheathes, set with plates and goblets of finest gold and silver. Fresh garlands were threaded through every rafter. The air was marked by the faint scents of flowers and food being prepared for a sumptuous feast.  
  
Truly, it was to be a magnificent wedding.  
  
It was still some hours before the guests were due to arrive. But alone, cloaked in shadows, Loki stole his way in early, a swiftness in his stride.  
  
He kept his head down, willing himself to remain unseen by the servants as he crept his way through the rooms of Breidablik, until at last he found the one he was looking for.  
  
The groom waited alone in his room. He stood gazing thoughtfully out the window and towards the horizon, deep in some unknown contemplation, his features schooled in a mixture of seriousness and calm that made him look all the more like a poetic allusion. The sun was warm on his shoulders, casting a pale brilliance over his figure and catching in the soft strands of his hair. His tunic, his cape, and his sash were all brand-new, commissioned for the occasion, made of light-colored fabrics as fresh as a daisy and decorated by fine turns of elaborate embroidery.  
  
He had never looked any more beautiful. And Loki  _despised_  him for it.  
  
“Good morrow, cousin,” he greeted with flat cordiality, dropping the magics that kept him unseen.  
  
Balder turned at the sound of his voice, starting, eyes wide.  
  
“Loki!” He was not so much alarmed as very much surprised. “How did-? What are you doing here?”  
  
Loki shrugged, taking a few measured steps closer. “Why, is it not obvious? I came to pay my respects to you, on this your happiest of days.”  
  
The words were right but the tone was wrong, emotionless and clipped. Balder of course did not appear to notice.   
  
Loki had his arms folded behind his back – concealing that while his left hand gripped his right elbow, his right hand was wrapped tightly around a small dagger with a long and pointed blade.  
  
The dagger was made of wood. Loki had carved it himself, from mistletoe.  
  
 _My gift to you, Balder,_  he had thought all the while, looking down at it with grim fury,  _on your wedding day._  
  
Out loud Loki continued, “You look very well. Finely dressed, the very picture of a young lord and a fortunate man. How fitting an image you present of life and new beginnings, as you mark this joyous occasion, and start your journey as one of the elite granted with wedded bliss-”  
  
As he spoke Balder’s expression had been subtly growing more and more agitated, until at last he broke in with a plea, “ _Stop!_  No more I beg of you.”  
  
The muscles in his face strained as if with some mental torment, he caught his breath before looking to Loki with wounded but certain eyes.  
  
“Cousin, there will be no wedding. I’m calling it off.”  
  
Loki had fallen into astonished silence at Balder’s initial outburst, and with this revelation it took him another moment still to regain his voice. “What?”  
  
“It is unfitting, I know. I waited far too long. Lady Nanna will be most displeased, not to mention her family, and mine.” Balder tugged at his neck, prying loose a golden necklace as if it had been choking him. He gazed down at the ornament in one hand with a solemn, quiet look. “But it is unthinkable that I should go through with this. I cannot bear it.”  
  
Loki’s muscles had tightened further in his shock, the arms behind his back now wire-tense and holding their same position perfectly straight. But the dagger had gone slightly limp in his grasp, no longer held at the ready to stab.  
  
“I don’t understand,” he admitted, swaying slightly closer but otherwise not daring to move. “This match was perfectly arranged. It was celebrated. Certainly,” and here a touch of bitterness stole its way into his voice once more, “everyone has been speaking highly of it for months.”  
  
It had at length proved more than Loki could bear listening to. As hot as the anger in his heart burned for Balder – tormenting him in minor ways and sneering at him from afar did not turn out to be enough for him. After all these centuries of watching, waiting, enduring, he realized he could take no more. And so he had chosen to strike the final blow.  
  
“I know.” Balder nodded, oblivious to Loki’s secret thoughts. “Nanna is a well-bred woman. Her family is connected, and she is rich in dowry. She possesses good manners, and is learned in all the womanly arts, and has a singular delicacy and grace. And there is no fault to be found with her appearance, either. Her hair, her skin, her eyes…no, all parts of her are more than passing fair.”  
  
Loki’s smile held a twist and his eyes were bright with how inwardly he seethed as he listened to this recitation of the lovely Nanna’s recommending attributes.  
  
“What, then?” he asked Balder, coolly mocking. “Do you hold out for something better? Is the Lady Nanna not even yet worthy of Balder the Bright?”  
  
Balder’s face colored in mortification at the very idea. “No,” he protested, aghast. “That isn’t it at all!”  
  
“I confess then that I fail to see your dilemma that forces you to break from your engagement. I know it cannot be that your fiancée does not love you. After all – doesn’t  _everyone?_ ”  
  
Loki smiled again, unpleasantly, and cocked his head aside as he said it. His tone was once more mocking, and no doubt Balder would think the jibe at his expense. Through the years Loki had belittled him for his nature and his ways often enough.  
  
But oh, if only he knew. It was not Balder that Loki mocked, when he spoke of infatuation. It was Loki himself.  
  
How many centuries had Loki sat in the shadows, watching his fair cousin go about his ways, cursing him for all that he was; all he had seemingly been born to be? Balder was everything that Loki was not – noble and handsome, giving and carefree, and most of all beloved. He was the pinnacle of Asgardian youth. And all this he did without effort, he achieved without ever seeming to try.  
  
Of course secretive, sour, sly, wicked Loki must hate Balder. Must loathe him completely. For as long as anyone could remember Loki had played tricks on Balder, had pelted him with mean words – which of course Balder had met with a forgiving smile. Everyone was certain Loki considered Balder his worst enemy – it was what everyone knew, and yet they were wrong.  
  
For much as he reviled and cursed it, even Loki was helpless against Balder’s charms. His gentle face, his sweet voice and kind words. They had proved to be sullen and shadowy Loki’s undoing. A burning coal was stoked in his chest that try as he might he could not snuff out. Yes, Loki hated Balder – hated him, and loved him helplessly all the while. He adored him with every pathetic, unworthy scrap of the thing he was. He lived in dread of the fact he would do anything for Balder; all he had to do was ask.  
  
But Balder, for all his kindness, never gave more than a glance and a polite smile Loki’s way. He barely knew he even existed.  
  
It was a simple set of facts that had continually made Loki’s existence unbearable. He had nursed his pride, kept his shameful secret hidden, but Balder’s impending nuptials had turned into the last pain that his heart could take. He watched as every day his beloved had come closer to being eternally bound to another, and it had pushed him to the brink on which he now stood.  
  
Destroy the thing that he loved most. Drink deep of his bitterness and self-revulsion, and know that if Balder was placed forever beyond his reach, at least no one else could ever touch him either.  
  
It was madness, near purposeless and destructive. The kind of thing which Loki did best.  
  
But now this unexpected conversation was happening, which had stymied him somewhat. He had never once thought that perhaps Balder did not  _want_  to get married. Especially with such an excellent match.  
  
At his words Balder was shaking his head. “Nanna is quite fond of me, I know well. More than once she had made her feelings known to me by a look, or her words.”  
  
Instead of sounding proud of this, or even pleased, he instead seemed strangely rueful.  
  
“Then I definitely don’t know what ails you,” Loki said to him, blunt.  
  
Balder was downright pained. “The problem is that I do not love  _her_.”  
  
There was a long pause during which Loki gazed at him, expressionless. And then he broke it by laughing. It was a wild, harsh laugh – almost a cackle.  
  
“Oh,” he coughed out, “is  _that_  all?” Balder stared at him in dismay. “Cousin, I had no idea you were still so naïve! Are we not born to noble duty, destined to marry for a good family name and land rights? Most men marry women they can hardly stand and think nothing of it. Be grateful you’ve found yourself a beauty that fawns over you. If you must have love, then wait for it to form later on down the line.”  
  
“Yes,” Balder said, sadly, “that’s what I tried to tell myself at first, too. That after Nanna and I built a life together, our hearts may well grow as one. Long I’ve tried to resign myself to it. But here I stand, at the final threshold, and I know that I cannot. I can’t promise myself to a marriage with someone I do not love – and know that I never will.”  
  
Loki peered at him with frank curiosity.  
  
“How can you know with such certainty?” he had to ask.  
  
Balder could only meet his eye for an instant, but when he did his gaze burned bright with an inner fire, of some yet unnamed emotion and a strong conviction.  
  
“Because,” he declared, “I am already in love, with another!”  
  
Loki’s eyes widened. He clenched his jaw tight. And to think for all his close watching of Balder, he had no idea. How doubly unexpected this all was.  
  
“Oh,” he managed. “How…fortuitous for you. But then why not simply marry this true love of yours instead?”  
  
Balder dropped his gaze, almost guilty. “They would not be considered suitable,” he admitted. “Indeed, it’s someone that…for a long time I have known I  _should not_  love. I have struggled with it. I’ve tried to make my feelings change.” He sighed.  
  
“But feelings are what they will. And I’ve realized, no matter what else others may think, there is no reason I can give to resist.” He lifted his head assuredly and met Loki’s gaze. The other found himself with breath suddenly caught in his throat. “I shouldn’t try to deny this feeling, that fills me with such warmth. I should permit myself to be honest about what it is I truly desire…with all my heart.”  
  
If noble Balder already appeared quite handsome, then Balder in the full-flush of admitting his love was a majestic and breathtaking sight indeed.  
  
He took a step towards Loki, his ardent gaze never faltering all the while. Loki remained where he was, frozen, feeling a shudder go through his whole body as he tried to fathom what was happening.  
  
“I don’t understand,” he said feebly. His shoulders hunched instinctively, defensive, as if trying to ward off the cursed fluttering in his breast. “Who is it that you speak of so…passionately? Who are you in love with, Balder?”  
  
Balder gazed at him, his blue eyes deep and clear, never blinking as he looked to Loki with soft intensity.  
  
“Do you not know?” he demanded. “All this centuries, and have I never betrayed a single sign to you? Can you really not guess?”  
  
Loki’s mind raced without purpose – for once his clever thoughts refused to make the next leap. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t allow that of himself. Not until he already knew it was true.  
  
“Say it,” he commanded Balder in a whisper. “Tell me who it is that you love. Who you could long for with such ardor that it pushes you past the point of duty or common sense.”  
  
Balder took another step closer. He still did not look away from Loki, gaze never flickering from where it held his eyes. There was a pause, acutely painful in its bittersweet promise, its intensity. And then Balder opened his mouth.  
  
But nothing came out, except a helpless, strangled gurgle. And a thick trickle of blood, where it suddenly spilled from the corner of his mouth.  
  
Loki gasped, or perhaps he meant to, but there was no sound. He could do nothing but watch as Balder’s body fell heavily to the floor, his fading eyes still fastened on Loki all the way.  
  
His brain was still trying to fit the pieces together, to make sense of what he was looking at, as Loki managed to pull his gaze away from Balder, to the wooden knife that had buried in his heart, to the hand of the one that stood there calmly holding it.  
  
The blade had been buried deep but Balder’s weight had pulled free of it, and now it hung blood-soaked in the air with point still facing the direction of the heart it had pierced. The dagger of mistletoe that Loki himself had carved – that somehow in his distraction had been liberated from his grasp behind his back.  
  
“Sorry,” the murderer said, her face expressionless, her voice stiff. “But I had to interrupt. Couldn’t wait; he was taking  _forever_.”  
  
Taking a sliding step away she added in a mutter, “It isn’t like he was saying anything important, right?”  
  
Loki barely glanced at her. He looked past her, to Balder. Balder’s prone corpse, now. With a wet sound Loki dove to the ground on his knees beside it.  
  
His arms went around in a pathetic attempt to lift Balder up. As if that would do any good now. He made a broken sound, desperate sobbing, still too shocked for tears to form or properly fall.  
  
“No.” At first a broken whisper, his voice rose as it became a frantic plea:  _“No, no no no!”_  
  
It was one thing to fantasize about the man he loved dead. It was one thing, even, to plan it – to fully intend on personally carrying it out.  
  
It was another entirely to watch him killed by a stranger right in front of him. Especially when it seemed as if he might very well have been moments away from divulging—  
  
Loki’s eyes shot up to gaze heatedly at the other being present. His consuming emotion at the moment was still a sense of shell-shocked disbelief. He felt as though the ground had been yanked out from under him.  
  
The woman was indeed a stranger, no one he recognized or had ever seen before. Her skin was near bloodless pale, her clothes torn, her hair dark and wild. She had a feral, sinister face, and eyes cold as anything. She wasn’t Asgardian. She didn’t appear to belong to any race Loki knew. He would’ve almost guessed at her being mortal, but there was something about her, something strange and off and…inhuman.  
  
“Who  _are_  you?” Loki demanded of her, still crouching on the ground, holding his dead love near the floor at her feet.  
  
She paced a bit back and forth, a distracted absent sort of motion. The knife remained in her hand. Rivulets of blood had dripped all the way up to her wrist.  
  
She frowned at his question, as if it displeased her. “Does it matter?” she retorted. “Do you really  _care?_  What does it concern of you what my name is – far as you know me I’m the one who killed, if I had to guess, the man you seem to have cared quite a bit for.”  
  
Pausing she glanced at the wooden knife she had taken from him, tossing it up and catching it deftly.  
  
“Though it would appear you had a funny way of showing it.”  
  
Loki clenched his teeth. As he drew a breath, bringing strength and focus to him once more, at last emotions past the dulling curtain of shock emerged. Pain, yes, but  _anger_  too; a vicious anger surging right on into bloodthirsty rage.  
  
Observing the change that came over his face, the way he glowered at her, the woman blinked calculatingly as she watched him.  
  
“Am I going to get a rise out of you? Are you determined to destroy me? I hope now, at least, you can create something of a worthy challenge,” she scoffed; “I am getting  _so_  tired of killing you without you even putting up a decent fight.”  
  
This small speech made not one whit of sense to Loki, but he couldn’t even begin to care. His shoulders were shaking with repressed fury. He ground his teeth together, baring them as he was consumed by fetid hatred.  
  
The sorceress cocked her head at him in an examining manner. The next moment as he shot to his feet and lunged for her she moved out of the way as she took on a wary stance.  
  
But even as the battle had only just begun Selene could see through to when and how she was sure it would be over. And to her resigned disappointment, she already knew it wouldn’t last long.  
  
He was murderously angry, driven by deep wounded emotion, and more than willing to kill. But this Loki was young yet – not principled, not as worldly as he thought himself. Impressive though he seemed he was  _nothing_  compared to some of the other versions of himself. He could still be shocked, be overtaken by his sentiments. And he was reeling, raw, having just been shaken to the core.  
  
No, Selene knew; no matter what he thought, he would not be avenging his would-be lover today.  
  
But at least by her hands, the two of them would at last be brought together, united in death.  
  
*  
  
Over the whir of the helicopter’s blades, Jane couldn’t make out what Darcy was saying. But she felt the nudge in her side from her assistant’s elbow, and figured before she even looked that it meant they had arrived at their destination.  
  
Looking up from the book she had been skimming Jane just caught a glimpse of the word  _‘Avengers’_  written out in electric lights as they closed in on the roof of the tall tower. Though she had visited New York before she still marveled at the sight of the building nestled among that impressive skyline.  
  
Darcy was yelling – something about it  _“almost being worth their hours’ long flight”._  Jane ignored her; not because she was wrong or right but because at the moment she had nothing of her own to say.  
  
The pilot turned his seat to give them a polite but firm warning about hanging on and not trying to move until he had landed and gotten them settled.  
  
They touched down on the helipad built on top of the tower and there were steady reverberations as the machine powered down and the noisy whirring of the blades faded away.  
  
“Finally,” Darcy exclaimed, snapping off her buckled straps and leaping out almost before the pilot could get free and help her.  
  
Jane was a little bit longer, taking her time. She took one last look down at the pages spread open in her lap. It was one of the myth books Erik had recommended to her ages ago.  
  
She glanced across the illustration paired with the story she was on. Bold letters at the top of the page proclaimed  _“The Death of Balder”._  The picture was angry gods in mourning over a warrior stretched out on a bier in repose. Pulling her eyes away Jane abruptly snapped the book shut and stuffed it in her bag.  
  
There was no one there to greet them as they walked across the tarmac - at least, no one human or physically there. But a set of cameras conspicuously monitored their every move, and a set of sensors passed over them before the door automatically unlocked for their entrance.  
  
As they walked down the first hallway inside the building Jane turned to give the SHIELD pilot that had escorted them a polite smile.  
  
“Thanks for bringing us here.”  
  
“Oh, it was no problem, ma’am,” he returned with a smile of his own. “As one of our top researchers, SHIELD is dedicated to helping you out in whatever way we can.”  
  
Bluntly, Darcy said to him, “I think what she meant is that you can go now.”  
  
Jane rolled her eyes and inwardly sighed, not that she was too surprised. Whether it was just posturing to show how ‘independent-minded’ she was or what, Darcy really didn’t like the SHIELD agents. She kind of went out of her way to be as rude to them as possible.  
  
The pilot frowned. Instead of snapping back at her though, he managed to keep his voice relatively even. “As I said, SHIELD remains very interested in Dr. Foster’s work, and by extension her well-being. I can’t just take off until I can verify that you’ve been safely escorted to your destination.”  
  
“In that case, pal, I think I can put you and your bosses at ease.”  
  
A door at the opposite end of the hallway slid open and the source of the new voice strode forward comfortably, followed close by a red-haired woman in business-wear and intimidating heels. Jane recognized Tony Stark at once, and as mixed feelings as she had about other parts of his ‘reputation’, her knowledge of his work as an inventor had her breath coming up short.  
  
Reaching them Stark turned first to the SHIELD man and gave him an amicable if dismissive pat on the shoulder.  
  
“Job well done. We can take it from here.” He redirected his gaze at the two women and clapped his hands. “So. You must be Dr. Jane Foster. And this is the assistant, Miss, uh…?”  
  
“Lewis,” Darcy interjected without hesitation, almost snottily. “Darcy Lewis. You don’t look nearly as tall in person.”  
  
The agent, meanwhile, had responded to the dismissal with a salute and was already leaving. Stark gave a sideways twist of a smile, seeming more amused than insulted.  
  
“I get that a lot,” he said without pause. “The suit adds a couple of inches.”  
  
The redhead spoke over him without reserve, cordially addressing Jane. “It’s a pleasure to have you visiting us, Dr. Foster. While you’re here let us know if there’s anything you need. I’ll make sure to introduce you to JARVIS before I go.”  
  
“Well thank you both for having us,” Jane returned. “Especially since it was technically Thor who extended the invitation, I have a feeling without asking.”  
  
The woman nodded with a faint smile, but let that pass by without comment. “Thor isn’t in, at the moment,” she informed them. “He went out and should probably be back later this evening, though I can’t say for sure.”  
  
“That’s…fine.”  
  
The truth was the longer she went without having to talk to or see Thor again, probably the better. Though Jane hadn’t yet to entirely throw in the towel, her feelings at present were far, far too confused. Bordering even on the painful. So while coming to the tower was, indeed, partially an excuse to see him again…right now she was far more interested in the scientific toys she’d been promised a glimpse at.  
  
“I’m sure there’ll be plenty here to keep me occupied until he gets back.”  
  
“Oh, how untoward of me.” Seeming to realize, Stark belatedly gestured to the woman at his side. They made quite the contrast: he in what could be at best described as dressy casual, while she was wearing an impeccably tailored power suit. “This is Pepper Potts; I’m sure you’ve heard of her.”  
  
Pepper shook both their hands, Darcy lunging forward for hers with a grin.  
  
“Acting CEO of Stark Industries,” the redhead explained for their benefit.  
  
“And also my girlfriend,” Stark added, cheeky. Sliding a hand over her hip he spoke in a stage whisper as he nudged her in the side. “Guess which one keeps her more occupied.”  
  
“Yes, well, all things considered, I’d say both can be equally time-consuming.” She smiled brightly and didn’t glance at him as she spoke, though the subtle barb was obviously aimed his way.  
  
Jane kept her face nearly blank, not sure whether she wanted to laugh or feel mortified, as beside her Darcy snorted.  
  
“Ouch. Okay, yeah: now that  _that’s_  outta the way.” Pulling away from Pepper, Stark gestured expansively. “Come on. Ms. Potts has a meeting, hence the intimidating formalwear, but we can see her to the fancy elevators before I start giving you two the tour.”  
  
They were herded back through the doors the other two had first entered from, into a room that was white and mostly empty but otherwise looked like a lobby.  
  
“This  _used_  to be my penthouse, but certain parties pointed out to me that having my living quarters on the very top floor was as good as skywriting out ‘Terrorists, aim missile here’. Thank you again for that, Ms. Potts.”  
  
“You’re very welcome.” She had on a smile that was somehow at once humoring and smug. Jane got the feeling it was well-practiced. She didn’t have long to contemplate on it though as Stark turned his attentions back to her.  
  
“Dr. Foster, I just wanted to tell you. Astrophysics has admittedly never really been my  _thing,_  but I did flip through some of your papers once we got word you were on your way over. I was most impressed, I think, by your original graduate thesis.”  
  
“Let me guess,” Jane smiled forcibly, having had many versions of this conversation with other academics over the years as she got further and further ‘off-course’; “You think none of my later work lives up to the potential that I seemed to promise.”  
  
“Well, no, I wouldn’t say that.” Stark blinked. “But then that’s probably because I have firsthand knowledge of what you’ve actually accomplished in the form of say, Vikings from beyond the stars.”  
  
Jane had to laugh, more relieved than she would’ve cared to admit.  
  
Darcy was apparently already bored with the conversation because while they’d been talking, she’d been visibly scanning the lobby.  
  
“What’s with all the suits?” She pointed out the security detail. “I thought this was basically an apartment building for superheroes.”  
  
“It sort of is, and you’re right; it’s totally unnecessary.” Stark’s response was completely flippant. “But we’ll get to that later. Now, would you like to go straight to the laboratory floors or would you rather get the full tour? Viewing platform, entertainment suite, master kitchen, full floor indoor Japanese hot springs?”  
  
“Do you actually have a full floor indoor hot spring?” Darcy asked with interest.  
  
“Well-”  
  
“No,” Pepper interrupted, flat.  
  
Undeterred Stark went on, “There’s a chance we may add one with further renovations.”  
  
“No you are not.” Behind them the elevator dinged. She pressed a kiss to Tony’s cheek. “Okay, I really do have to go now. I’ll see you later.”  
  
“Bye!” As Pepper went into the elevator a stocky man in a dark suit stepped off. “Oh, look who it is.” Stark pointed without hesitation. “Ladies, this is our head of security. He’s the one responsible for all the frankly useless guards that are cluttering up my gorgeous state of the art building.”  
  
“Hey, you mock it all you like,” retorted the other man, with the attitude of one who took his work very seriously. He wore a plastic badge proclaiming  _“H. Hogan”_  and from the way he and Stark were talking to each other Jane guessed he had been working for the man for a long while. “You’ll be glad they were here when trouble comes.”  
  
In response to this declaration though Stark only made a mocking sound, as he stepped forward and waved his guests onto the elevator. Darcy jumped in and nestled for the best spot, and Jane quickly followed.  
  
“Sure – ‘when the trouble comes’,” the billionaire repeated scathingly. “Uh, have you not noticed what  _name_  is plastered all over the side of the building? Because if I was some lowlife looking to make for a good time, this is definitely the first place I’d head. You know, right after I tried to tunnel under the Pentagon, and broke into Fort Knox.”  
  
The security man gazed at his employer stonily. “You realize that you basically just jinxed yourself.”  
  
“Oh, grow up,” Stark called without a hint of irony as the elevator doors slid shut.  
  
*  
  
If Loki intended to go courting danger, it wouldn’t be without a veil of security or two in place.  
  
He’d spent nearly the last twenty-four hours floating somewhere in a state between asleep and awake, putting his mind into a trance and his body in near hibernation as his spirit went a’ roving.  
  
Though he had not been able to discern much more about his attacker, he’d not expected to. But he  _had_  confirmed what his earlier senses had already told him.   
  
There was a weak but discernible connection from the energy of his life’s line that spun out into the universe like so much tangled thread. With enough time, and effort, and power, that line could be traced back to where it met other similar threads, from other similar lives – presumably other Lokis, or versions of someone very much like him, out there scattered amongst who knew how many myriad worlds.  
  
But the other threads were fractured. There was a sense as though there’d been a great rending in fate’s tapestry, lights snuffed out that were otherwise indistinguishable among the stars. The energy he sensed from the other threads of existence, these other lives, was in distress; injured, maybe even killed.  
  
Someone was hunting down versions of him, one after the other, and putting them in the ground. There was no telling whether or not they might be headed his way next.  
  
But, as forewarned was forearmed, he planned to find out.  
  
Once his move had been decided, next he had to choose where to make his stand. What he hoped to achieve was dangerous, not least because it would guarantee that - for a moment at least - his unknown adversary’s attention would be directly on him.  
  
It wouldn’t due to court destruction in his own personal stronghold.  
  
But it would be much more fitting, not to mention amusing and potentially quite  _rewarding_ , to do it in that of his enemies.  
  
Loki allowed himself a brief grin at the thought. And then, all business, he willed his magic to rise and carried himself off and away to the land known as ‘Manhattan’.  
  
New York was a queer place, a teeming cesspool of mortality and the loud noises, bright lights and other excesses they indulged in to pretend that their existences mattered. But Loki bypassed all of that. He brought himself inside one of the buildings, the very lower levels at the base of the Avengers’ tower.  
  
Inside his foes’ fortress and them none the wiser. Of course, the Iron Man had no doubt put many technological safeguards in place to protect his precious building. No doubt his invisible manservant was on lookout for the slightest appearance or movement that seemed out of place.  
  
But with his magic these toys were easy to fool. One of the first things his recruited pawns from SHIELD had taught him about on the last visit to this planet was facial recognition software. Loki merely made himself invisible to the eye, intangible to anything that might be searching for his weight or body temperature. And then he carefully made his way through the tower, walking wherever he pleased.  
  
It didn’t take long for him to come upon an empty room at the end of what appeared to be an unused corridor. It was a wide open space, undecorated, without even any illumination. His guess as to its purpose was as some manner of storage closet.  
  
 _Perfect,_  Loki deemed it with a satisfied nod. After a brief survey to locate and dismantle any pesky devices that might be used to spy on him, he went to work.  
  
On the empty floor he began casting down a web of careful sorcery. Runes and circles he drew with a mixture of chalk, ash, and – though he rued it – some of his own blood. Once finished he walked the design he had created carefully, being sure to stay a foot back the entire time, making certain it was complete.  
  
Then he began to chant.  
  
Time passed at a regular trickle as he worked in fervent concentration, pouring more and more of his power, his own unique signature into the spell. After a space he took a knee, his voice growing raw, his eyes half-lidded, but all the while never blinking, never faltering or stopping.  
  
Even as it drained him Loki felt a vicious sense of pride at his undertaking. This was no fancy illusion, no mere parlor trick. This was not something that just  _any_  master of magics could do.   
  
This was working fingers one at a time into the thick and unstable material that made up the reality around him, gradually stretching and pulling at it. Reaching out some impossible distance and catching hold of a spark he could barely see in even his mind’s eye, even as it began to ripple in response to his distant persistent summons; and  _tugging…_  
  
In the darkness of the room the lines of the circle he’d drawn flared. Coming alive as an ethereal light emerged from the marks, and floating off in some spots like a will-o-the-wisp. At first the glow was a bright acid green, and then it faded to a more neutral shade between blue and white.  
  
As Loki rose back to a standing position, he watched as the air within the confines of the circle began to thicken. It grew darker and then wavered with a small implosion, and finally the outline of a figure formed.  
  
From his position a way’s back Loki gazed at it, wary, and studied the details with an intense concentration. It was a female figure; mortal, if he had to venture a guess. Her hair was long and dark, her skin so pale she appeared like a ghost. Her boots were black and well-travelled in. Her dress was black also, with a top that fitted her like a bodice but a skirt that was in tatters. Her nails were sharp and her face was gaunt, severe.  
  
Loki had crossed paths with countless beings over near as many centuries and across a dozen different worlds – and he had angered more of them than he had befriended. But he did not recognize this creature. He didn’t know whether or not that made him disappointed.  
  
Within the glowing confines of the spell-circle the woman’s image flickered between solidity and transparence, which only added to her unearthly spirit-like appearance. When her eyes opened it seemed to take her awhile to focus enough to make out what was in front of her.   
  
Not surprising, considering Loki had bound and dragged her spiritual essence across both space and time. Somewhere her living body had fallen into a deep slumber. Meanwhile his unnamed enemy was both here, and not. It was most convenient, not to mention probably the safest.  
  
The woman’s lips parted to reveal fangs when she spoke. “Who is it that dares to summon I?” she demanded, low and toneless. Her voice was harsh, gravelly.  
  
Loki took half a step forward, the movement fluid and rolling to hide how his steps had become temporarily uneven. This little trick had taken far more out of him than he would’ve liked.  
  
“Right here.” He lifted his chin, mouth set but expressionless, his shoulders raised and his arms at his sides. “I would perhaps see fit to introduce myself, but I have a very strong feeling you already know my name.”  
  
She turned to look at him, head rotating slowly in a smooth movement most humans wouldn’t have been able to pull off. When her gaze at last fixed on him, when she was able to see him clearly, her eyes flashed.  
  
 _“You,”_  she ground out, at once all a mixture of surprised, vehement and victorious. “You brought me here? You reached out and let me see the way to you?”  
  
Loki considered her. There were heavily inscribed lines across her face, marks of power. And she carried an aura of her own he could see reacting within the confines of his spell, even more than was to be expected. A sorceress of some type, or perhaps a shaman. And one that was in all likelihood not weak.  
  
She never blinked. Her focus as she watched him was animal-like, predatory.  
  
“I had little choice,” he said at length, an indifferent smile flitting across his face. “I could sense you, out there. I could feel what you were doing.”  
  
The wraith smiled as well, but hers was far from indifferent as his was. It was viciously triumphant.   
  
“I should hope so. I have come long way in doing what I have done. Snuffed out many lives in the process.”  
  
“My life, you mean,” Loki clarified mildly.  
  
“Versions of it,” the sorceress confirmed. Her voice turned into a hiss. “But I’ve no intention of stopping until I’ve killed the one that I  _really_  want.”  
  
Loki gestured with his hands, so the very picture of reasonableness it was intended to be mocking. “So why is it that you so want to see me dead? What did this other version of me do to you, to earn your wrath? It makes no difference to me, really – I’m just curious.”  
  
It was both a truth and a lie. The measure and aims of this potential enemy were of far more interest to him than whatever had sparked her bloodlust off. Though knowing more details couldn’t hurt.  
  
As he spoke though the cruel grimace faded from the face of the woman whose essence he held captive. She visibly withdrew, frowning as she eyed him, calculating.  
  
“You don’t know me,” she realized out loud. “You do not recognize me. You are not the end goal of my revenge; you are not the version of him that I seek.”  
  
Loki canted his head. “I believe I said as much. But why so sure?”  
  
She sneered, huffing. Taking a few steps back as if to show her new disinterest, though she hardly had anywhere to move or pace. “If you were him, you wouldn’t need to ask any questions,” she declared with absolute conviction. “You would  _remember._  You would know me; what you did, why I am here. You would know my name.”  
  
She stood as far back from Loki as she could, the in-and-out flickering of her form casting her face even further in shadows. Her eyes moved, hunting, from side to side.  
  
“I think though that this world may very well be closer to what I seek,” she murmured. “There is something about it that feels very familiar.”  
  
Loki watched her, eyes half-lidded, and doing his best not to openly frown. If only snuffing her out like a candle at this point in time was something he could manage. Alas, that wasn’t possible. It was something far outside the limits of what this particular series of enchantments could accomplish.  
  
He had thought by summoning her spirit here he could…if not  _reason_  with her, then at least satisfy his curiosity. But this enemy was even more than he anticipated. He doubted very much she was to be reasoned with. He could see very easily that her hatred of him went far outside what could be considered practical.  
  
This massive quest she had undertaken was only a means to an end to her, but one she coldly relished every infinite step of the way. She hungered for his life, his blood.  
  
Or the life and blood of one of his near-dimensional relatives, to be precise. It was metaphysically speaking almost the same thing.  
  
It occurred to Loki now that this decision of his might have backfired. He’d bottled lighting and now wasn’t sure what would happen when he let it out again. He had sought information and gotten very little, save to confirm the worst of what he already knew.  
  
And if he ended the spell, broke the seal and tried to send her back to wherever she came from? She might not go away. If she wished, she could very well will herself to remain, if she was powerful enough. So it could be  _she_  that gathered information here instead.  
  
He clenched his jaw once, hard, and then forced his irritation to dissipate, smoothing the feeling away.  
  
“I don’t suppose,” he tried at a last-ditch effort, “you have any reason not to tell me your name. After all, it’s not as if I am the one who is truly your enemy.”  
  
“Not when this began. But now?” The focus of her gaze roamed, taking him in. “Names have power. I think that you know this. I think that neither of us is so great a fool as to think that this will end easily.”  
  
“Why shouldn’t it?” Loki shook his head. “Your aim, I’ve gathered, is to tear the throat out of some duplicate of me in another realm that has wronged you. Why should that be any concern of mine?”  
  
“Why should I be here, talking to you, if it wasn’t?” she countered smartly.  
  
Not showing concession to her point Loki spread his arms and smirked. “Wouldn’t you be curious in my place? If you could feel something moving out among the branches of the World’s Tree, poised to gnaw at your very root? But now that I know it isn’t  _me_  you’re really after, I’m prepared to turn a blind eye.”   
  
He stepped back again on his heel, clasping hands together and rubbing them absently. “After all – counterparts may be linked, but not inextricably so. No matter how many of me you kill, it doesn’t have any effect on my life.”  
  
“Not so true as you might think.” She twisted her head vehemently. “I need those lives to complete my journey. Links in a chain, to get me back to where I belong.”  
  
“Links in a chain,” Loki repeated in a murmur. He understood. “So, that’s the manner you’re using to travel from one world to the next. Drawing on the fissure left exposed when you cut one life away from that universal connection. A…grisly method.”  
  
“But effective,” she said back in a snap. “And one that works.”  
  
 _It certainly does,_  Loki thought. He stayed where he was and watched her in silence, his expression carefully blank.   
  
Now that he was beginning to see the full picture regarding this would-be foe, he felt…not fear, exactly. But certainly a great deal of  _unease._  
  
“You think to question me,” she continued, heedless of his pause or his thoughts. “You think to learn my motivations, or maybe to endear yourself? To me you are nothing – just another of those untested links. My path is at random, grasping out for the surest if not the quickest way.”  
  
For a moment her eyes seemed to burn. She seemed not to doubt herself, that in the end she would have the life she sought within her grasp. No matter how long it took her.  
  
“Maybe I will never have need to enter your world, and you live on untouched, unaware. Or maybe you will be among the unlucky few that stand between me and what I desire.”   
  
Her teeth showed. “If so, I will tear through you like all the rest.”  
  
*

If Tony was being honest with himself – and he so rarely was, unless it was sarcastically – there were maybe two times in his life when he was at his happiest. When he was showing off, and when he put his mind to work on something.  
  
Which was why even though knowing he was technically acting as Thor’s inadvertent wingman (Thor wasn’t fooling anybody, no matter what the big guy might have thought) he was actually really quite pleased that they had invited Dr. Foster over for a laboratory play-date.  
  
He hadn’t just been trying to butter her up: he thought her work truly was impressive. Even though it had required a bit of homework on his part to understand all of it - a task that had been harder than one might think, considering it still took a little effort on his part to even read the word “wormhole”.  
  
But, he thought, standing there with a gratified version of his usual smugness, it all paid off in the end. Spending hours with both Bruce and Dr. Foster as they poked through diagrams and gushed over his tech was definitely his idea of a good time.  
  
At present he had taken a step back, watching as Bruce demonstrated how one of Tony’s laser generators worked to the other scientist. Jane was asking questions and babbling animatedly, drawing a smile out of Bruce, her eyes bright with intellectual fire in a way Tony could appreciate.  
  
Off in the corner her so-called assistant had long grown bored with the technobabble and found herself a computer terminal where she was currently playing Chinese checkers against JARVIS. And losing, badly, judging by her scowl and frequent muttering.   
  
She seemed happy to be ignored and Tony was all too willing to ignore her. He spared the slightest disinterested glance to make sure she hadn’t wandered off somewhere, and then went back to watching the far more remarkable-to-his-interests woman.  
  
Dr. “Call me Jane, please, seriously” Foster was not at all what he would’ve pictured if tasked with coming up with the woman Thor would’ve chosen to bestow his affections on. He probably would’ve pictured something taller, and maybe blonder, with toned physique and an icy stare –a Nordic supermodel, basically. Instead he’d fallen for a quiet, tiny, almost mousy physicist. She seemed an odd choice for godly infatuations.  
  
That was, until she opened her mouth and started talking about her work, and it became clear there was much more to her than met the eye.  
  
So maybe Thor had a thing for brainy girls. A bit unexpected; Tony approved. But then, it was well-established  _he_  had quite the thing for driven, independent, fiery women. He could certainly understand why Jane had caught Thor’s attention.  
  
There was the sound of heavy footsteps at his back and Tony felt a slight prickle along his neck, like he was standing close to an electric generator.  
  
 _Speak of the devil,_  he thought as he turned around and found the thunder god standing there, as if he’d somehow been summoned by thought of his name.  
  
“Hey.” Tony shuffled a few steps closer, greeting him quietly. “How’s it going?”  
  
“It goes…fine, friend Stark.” Thor barely looked at him. He stood there with his arms at his sides, his shoulders not quite as high. His head wasn’t hanging but there was something about his attitude as if it  _should_  be.  
  
Thor stood there, all six foot and change of him, with his massive muscles and his mane of blond hair, taking up the entire doorframe, and yet he somehow seemed  _smaller_  than he really was. Deflated.  
  
He watched Dr. Foster with a subdued hangdog expression; gazing at her as if she was even further beyond his reach than the few feet that separated them.  
  
He turned to address Tony and his blue eyes were infinitely sad. “How have things been here?” he asked with a beseeching sort of curiosity.  
  
 _Aw, jeeze, Thor,_  Tony thought. Here was a demigod that could probably bench-press a tank if he wanted, and he looked like a kicked puppy. Somebody was definitely whipped by love.  
  
He almost groaned out loud. And to think he’d mostly been bewildered when Thor had not-so-subtly requested maybe Tony could put in a word to get Jane to stop on by.   
  
He would’ve figured Thor could sweep any woman off her feet, easy. Instead it looked like the guy could use all the help he could get.  
  
He found himself resting a hand on the much taller man’s shoulder in an attempt at sympathy. “It’s been, uh, going great. You know, giving your girlfriend the grand master tour. Been spending most of our time in the lab so far; no surprise there. But I’d say she’s been enjoying herself. Haven’t offered her a bed to spend the night in yet, but I’m sure once the chance comes up she’ll take it…”  
  
“If that is what pleases her.” Thor’s voice was wooden. He’d pulled out from under Tony’s hand and drifted listlessly closer to the lab, watching Jane through the glass. “It is of course her decision.”  
  
Tony cleared his throat, rubbed his beard with a frown, and just when he was trying to find the best way to suggest to Thor he stop moping and go sweep the girl off her feet, the lady in question looked up and noticed the Asgardian standing there.  
  
She froze, and the smile slid off her expression in surprise.  
  
Undeterred or possibly immune to social awkwardness, Bruce gave no pause as he lifted a hand in a friendly wave. “Hey.”  
  
“Dr. Banner,” Thor nodded, “it is good to see you again. And you, Darcy,” he greeted the girl, who had turned in her seat, mouth open uselessly, eyes bouncing back and forth between Jane and Thor in a riveted fashion. “And…you, Jane. No matter the circumstances, it pleases me whenever our paths cross once again.”  
  
His voice was softer, intent, words coming heavily in a rumbling sort of sigh.  
  
Tony was one hundred percent straight. He’d fallen asleep that time Pepper had tried to get him to watch  _The Notebook._  And even he was screaming mentally at Jane to stop standing there and kiss him.  
  
“It’s good to see you again, too, Thor,” she said at last in a similarly subdued and reluctant way, which wasn’t at all satisfying to their audience. “I, um. Wanted to thank you, for inviting me…everything here is  _amazing._ ”  
  
“Yes. I knew you would like it.” Thor smiled, at least, in way to suggest that he was happy at having made Jane happy, even if it was only a little. He seemed to remember they weren’t alone, and looked to the sides hurriedly. “But of course, Stark and Banner deserve some of the thanks as well. Hopefully they haven’t minded-”  
  
“No, no,” Tony cut him off with a gesture before this could possibly get any more awkward, “not at all. We’re only too happy to have the doctor. She is…quite the woman.”  
  
And he punctuated that by ending with his eyes resting significantly on Thor, in an unblinking stare that was one part thumbs-up, one part  _‘make a move, you numbskull’._  
  
Thor frowned at him in passing confusion but otherwise didn’t seem to get the message. Of course not.  
  
“She’s been taking Tony to school on some of the finer points of particle fusion,” Bruce put in, aloof in a way that seemed like perfectly willful obliviousness. “It’s been fun to watch.”  
  
“Oh,” Darcy butted in herself, only she added an elaborate stage yawn, “is  _that_  what she’s been doing?”  
  
Jane shot her a disapproving look as she continued, undaunted, “Come on. Let’s go check out the kitchen and the swimming pool, already. We’ve been in here for,” she looked at her watch, “ _six hours_ , oh my  _god_.”  
  
“Maybe a change of scenery would be a good idea,” Tony offered. The wheels in his head were already turning fast as he tried to set up a scenario where Thor could make his play. “After all, we can always come back to this later. Bruce and I can clean up here, and maybe Thor could get started on showing you gals the rest of the way around. We’ll catch up in a minute. Or, you know, five.”  
  
Thor and Dr. Foster exchanged a quick look, the latter worrying her lower lip pensively.  
  
Tony might have been holding his breath a little (which was something he would never admit) when JARVIS choose that very second to interrupt.  
  
 _“Pardon me, Sir.”_  The disembodied voice sounded anxious enough Tony immediately realized it was urgent.  _“But I’m afraid that the building’s security has been breached by what my records are indicating as a top-level threat.”_  
  
There was no time to be annoyed. Instead he leapt into investigative mode. “JARVIS, give me details.”  
  
 _“Lower level.”_  A helpful holographic map projected itself in mid-air out of nowhere, a bright green orb serving as the ‘threat is here’ indicator.  _“It appears to be in an unfinished section, in what’s currently empty storage space.”_  
  
The AI’s voice sounded as bemused as Tony felt. He came closer nonetheless for a better look, as out of the corner of his eye he saw Bruce fold his arms and rest one hand against his mouth.  
  
“Nothing down there,” Tony stated the obvious. “So why break in?”  
  
“Unless that’s the point. Breaking in, I mean.” Bruce had a bitter sort of smile on his face. “If all they wanted was to gain access to the building in the first place.” He elaborated with a gesture: “And, in the process, us.”  
  
“But who would-” Tony fell abruptly silent and behind him he heard Thor draw in a sharp breath as they must’ve simultaneously had the same realization.  _Oh god, no._  “JARVIS. Have you identified the intruder?”  
  
 _“Affirmative. Both energy signatures and facial scans point towards the hostile subject known as Loki.”_  
  
Of course.  _Of course;_  out of all the people on their hit list currently, who else was both nutty and nasty enough to literally hit them where they live? Probably for no other reason than just to prove that point.  
  
Tony gave a highly incredulous sound. Even knowing it was pointless he had to demand, “How did he get inside without triggering any alarms?”  
  
 _“I’m afraid I can’t say.”_  JARVIS was almost drowned out by an increasingly loud whooshing sound – Tony spun around in time to nearly be blinded by a flare of encompassing light as Mjolnir landed in Thor’s palm and, with a brilliant flash, his full armor appeared on his body.  _“I only just became aware of him several minutes ago. Somehow he was able to mask himself from all of the building’s sensors. There’s no way of telling how long he’s been here.”_  
  
“Okay; you really shouldn’t do that indoors,” Tony chided Thor automatically, not having any pertinent response to JARVIS’ information outside of colorful mental swearing. “You’re gonna bust out somebody’s retinas.”  
  
Thor ignored him, naturally. The look on his face was angry and incredibly grave. “Jane and Darcy, please remain here.” He pointed to them. “You will be safe.”  
  
He waited only long enough for Jane to nod back at him fervently before he took off running.  
  
“…Well, great. And he’s off,” Tony muttered. “Want to lay even odds he’ll actually use the elevator, or just fling himself out a window and go soaring down?” He shook his head and smacked his palms together absently. “Right. JARVIS, wake up the Mark-42. Bruce-”  
  
“Actually.” His teammate took a step back, taking off his glasses to play with them. “Depending on what Loki actually wants, you and Thor can probably keep him occupied. I can always tag in if you need me.”  
  
He gave a self-depreciative smile. “Until then, think I’ll stay here. I wouldn’t want to break anything, unless I had to.”  
  
Tony weighed the options and decided he was probably in the right. Besides, that little Norse bastard was crawling around doing who knew what inside  _his_  building: he didn’t really want to stick around and argue.  
  
“JARVIS, seal this wing down behind me. Alert security to go on red alert and put the whole facility in lockdown mode.”  
  
He adjusted his position, arms and legs akimbo in time for the pieces of the suit to soar in and assemble around him.  
  
 _“Now let’s go bag ourselves a gate-crasher.”_  
  
He barely heard Darcy squeak out  _‘Okay, that is so cool’_  behind him before he fired up his rockets with minimum thrust, enough to give him that extra burst as he went half-running, half-hovering down the hall.  
  
From a certain perspective it was possibly a comical sight, an armored Iron Man crashing down the hallway, occasionally shouting at astonished employees to move out of his way, sending them ducking and flailing back inside doorways. Luckily the tower’s main function as Avengers’ headquarters sort of ran contrary to the point of having a multitude of staff. Mostly they were maintenance and cleaning types, relegated to the lower levels. There really weren’t that many people in the building.  
  
Something Tony would be doubly glad of if they couldn’t stop whatever Loki was doing in time and he burned the whole place down.  
  
Tony’s mind raced along faster than the speed he was physically traveling. Loki coming back to try and bite them was no great shocker – but why here, why now? What exactly was his move that he ended up playing his hand so soon? Unless he was trying to psyche them out; remind them that he knew where they lived, and had the power to strike at about any moment.  
  
It was unspeakably annoying, but it was also damn effective. The whole team wasn’t even here to deal with him – Natasha had gone off the day before on some top secret mission and taken Rogers along with her. Barton, as far as he knew, was on a mission as well.  
  
At least that was what he thought. But he turned out to be proven wrong, as he rounded a corner and was suddenly met with the sight of the SHIELD agent nimbly climbing out of an air duct and dropping down right in front of him.  
  
Tony skidded to a halt just in time, his metal boots drawing sparks off the floor.  
  
 _“Christ, Barton, you have got to stop doing that!”_  
  
“I don’t think we really have time for pleasantries,” came the other man’s retort, brusque. He tapped at the side of his head, indicating his earpiece. “I heard Thor blundering around. We’ve got a home invader?”  
  
 _“It’s Loki,”_  Tony told him, and judging from the stiff nod he got in response, he was only confirming what Barton had already guessed.  _“Little bastard slunk his way inside. Bypassed every camera I put into the place. No idea how.”_  
  
“Right now I’d say that’s the least of our worries.” Barton was trying his damnedest to stay professional, but there was that slight dark note that always entered his tone whenever Loki was the topic of conversation. “Think he’s trying to steal something? Or maybe he’s after Jane Foster?”  
  
Tony knew better than to even  _ask_  how he already knew about her.   
  
 _“Your guess is as good as mine. Here’s an idea: let’s go ask him.”_  
  
He’d realized how close they were to a set of elevators. Stomping over to the nearest one, Tony glanced up to make sure the car was still somewhere on the floors above, and then called out, _“JARVIS, give me a shutdown on elevator shaft three.”_  
  
Then without even waiting for confirmation he pried the doors open manually. Ignoring the unhappy creak of metal-on-metal, he stood with one foot half over the edge of the long straight abyss, the HUD mapping everything out for him despite the pitch black darkness.  
  
Without further pause Tony dove in headfirst and kicked his thrusters on, zooming toward the bottom of the empty shaft.  
  
There was a clink behind him, what was now already far overhead. He glanced back without turning: a small virtual window showed him the view to his rear as Barton used one of his arrows as a grappling hook and was smoothly rappelling his way down after.  
  
“Well, three out of six ain’t bad, right?” Tony muttered to himself. Four if they counted Bruce.  
  
He was hoping they wouldn’t have to count Bruce, but it was really quite reassuring to know the Other Guy was in reserve, just in case.  
  
Reaching the hallway he repulsor-blasted the doors open: it was his building, he knew he could afford the repairs. Pepper might have a few things to say later, but – whatever.  
  
On the actual floor he slowed down to a methodical walking pace, letting JARVIS feed him information from the system on what was up ahead. The security grid was still kicking back a lot of static, which was worrisome, to say the least. His breath came even but audible in the enclosed space of his helmet as his pulse pounded, system soaring with adrenaline that came with the anticipation of an oncoming fight. He could barely make out the whirs of metallic joints that came with the suit in motion. Barton flanked him behind and to his right, moving in almost perfect silence.  
  
The room Loki was supposed to be in was one hallway away, around another corner. Thor came into view a few feet in front of them, stalking the same direction with his hammer at the ready. Tony was more relieved than he would have thought at realizing they’d caught up to the thunder god first. But letting Thor take on his brother alone was asking for excessive collateral damage. Things between them always got way too messy.  
  
 _“Hey, Thor,”_  Tony said quietly as he could. The Asgardian turned his head enough to meet his gaze. Every muscle was taut, his pose battle-ready, but he gave his two allies a short nod.  
  
Good. They were all on the same page here, for once. No Loki-tackling unless they were in it together.  
  
He turned his helmet toward Barton and was rewarded with another exchange of nods. The archer slipped into position closer behind him, hugging the wall, as Thor held his ground waiting for them to catch up. They were moving almost in a single-file line right up next to the wall’s very edge as they finally came around the corridor.  
  
Tony’s eyes slid along the blank expanse of white paint in front of him until they found the gap that was the open door to the room. The inside was dark, but there was a creepy glow coming from somewhere. And he could make out Loki, and another figure.  
  
He tried to take in as much as he could in milliseconds. Loki was standing there, armored but un-helmeted. The glow was coming from a strange circular design on the floor; the HUD went crazy trying to scan it, claiming it was giving off all kinds of impossible energy. Okay then, so magic. Terrific. Always fun.  
  
The second person in there with Loki…appeared to be a woman. He didn’t know her, and facial stats were giving him nada, so apparently she wasn’t in anybody’s database.   
  
His first, kneejerk guess from what he could see was she was an alien of some kind. Her shape was human enough but her skin was bone-white while everything else about her was black, and the overall imagery came off as unsettling bordering on gruesome.  
  
There was a conversation going on but they were too late to catch any of it. The instant they got close Loki’s mouth shut and his head whipped around, turning on his heels to keep them at his front instead of his side when he realized they were there.  
  
His eyes darted swiftly, taking in the three of them, and his hand half-raised in preparation to either defend or attack.  
  
Tony aimed a gauntlet at him.  _“Hi. Thanks for stopping by. You know, it’s kind of funny though, considering I don’t remember inviting you. So why don’t you leave your housewarming gift somewhere and show yourself to the door?”_  
  
“What is the meaning of this, Loki?” Thor demanded in a low roar. “What foul undertaking you have commenced with now?”  
  
Barton, ever the eloquent soul, let his bow do the talking for him, namely the sound it made as he fitted an arrow into place and drew the string taut.  
  
And Loki…frankly stunned the hell out of Tony by not immediately attacking them. His mouth gave a spasm and he looked briefly aside, shaking his head in what looked a strange mixture of exasperated amusement and pure pissed-off annoyance.  
  
“Naturally, you chose the most inopportune moment to uncover me,” he remarked. “Your interference at this point is…meddlesome.”  
  
 _“‘Meddlesome’. Oh, I’m sorry.”_  Tony flipped his faceplate up, the better to be brutally sardonic. “You wanna know what’s ‘meddlesome’?  _You_  summoning boggarts in my basement. That’s what’s meddlesome, here. I don’t suppose you would like to explain?”  
  
Loki’s mouth twitched into a humorless smirk. “I’ve not much reason to waste my time explaining myself to the likes of you.”  
  
“Yeah, insult us all some more again,” Barton deadpanned. He didn’t move a single other muscle, arrow pointed resolutely. “That always works out so great for you.”  
  
The smirk vanished and something flitted across Loki’s face – recalling, one would guess, for a moment that he’d indeed been defeated by them once before and how agonizing and humiliating it had been. Anything he was about to say, though, was cut off before he could get started.  
  
There was an inhuman hiss, sharp as a knife made of white noise, from the woman trapped within the glowing magic circle. Despite better instincts such a definitive sound caught all their attentions instantly.  
  
“These are not your allies, are they Odinson.” It was a statement, not a question. But god, that woman had such an  _ugly_  voice. It was deeply unsettling.  
  
Also unsettling? The fact that the longer Tony looked at her, he realized her image was hazy, and flickering intermittently in and out. Like a ghost. Because clearly her black-on-white and ghoulish appearance wasn’t sinister enough.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Tony managed, cordially; “And, who the hell are you?”  
  
“Do not speak to her,” Loki ordered sharply – which of course made Tony immediately want to. He stopped himself though, because something lingering in Loki’s tone made him think twice. It sounded like he was…not afraid, exactly. But wary. Worried, about what could happen here.  
  
Loki had forced his way through the wrong side of an unstable dimensional tear, setting off a chain reaction that demolished an entire top secret government base. He’d sicced a massive army of creatures he’d just  _barely_  had control over on a metropolitan area.   
  
If something was wrong here and it had  _him_  leery of the outcome? Tony was prepared to sit up and take notice.  
  
Thor gave an impatient sound, a wordless repressed shout, through his teeth. Reaching out with both fists he snatched Loki up by the front of his clothing, near his collar, bodily dragging him out of the room into the hallway.   
  
Loki wrapped his own hands tight over Thor’s, until the knuckles turned white, but otherwise made no move to resist.  
  
 _‘You two have the most dysfunctional relationship ever’,_  Tony did  _not_  say, out loud, because some things even he didn’t think were that funny.  
  
“Enough of this,” Thor snarled, his face and Loki’s inches apart. “Talk! I know a summoning charm when I see one. Who or what is this creature you have brought here? What treachery do you now attempt?”  
  
Loki had his head leaned back so he wasn’t bumping into Thor’s. “For once, no treachery. Well…save that I chose the Iron Man’s domicile for this,” he admitted, smiling. “But if something went wrong, I preferred that the collateral be lucrative.”  
  
“You are such a charmer,” Tony told him in the exact same tone he would’ve asked him to eat shit. Loki’s smile only grew wider.  
  
What a difference time made: when last they had fought Loki, nearly everything he did only made Thor look sadder and sadder. At some point along the way, however, the big guy’s well of patience must’ve run dry. Because as of right now, he looked more than willing to introduce his brother’s skull into the drywall if it meant getting some quick and straight answers out of him.  
  
The interrogation of Loki was put off a bit, though, by the sound of several pairs of feet arriving behind them. Tony turned and discovered half a dozen of the building’s security guards.  
  
“Mr. Hogan sent us, sir,” the lead one panted. “We came as fast as we could.”  
  
“Oh, yeah,” Tony responded with precisely zero enthusiasm. “That’s great. Real helpful. Uh…” He looked swiftly for some busywork to keep them out of the way. “Hey, why don’t you guys make yourself useful and keep an eye on that whole situation there?”  
  
He pointed to the darkened room, the neon bright floor patterns, the creepy ghost woman. She smiled unpleasantly at the group of men, revealing a mouth of fangs.  
  
There was a marked moment of hesitation before the security men filed inside the room, closer.  
  
“Do not touch anything,” Loki ordered after them, blandly.  
  
“Um,” Tony began, holding up a single armored finger – as much about to point out  _his_  people weren’t  _Loki’s_  to command, thanks, as he was to question why they should listen to anything the sorcerer had to say.  
  
Thor interrupted though, with a shake of his head. “No. In this case, he is right.” His grip on Loki released and he pushed him back a space, visibly annoyed. “Any contact with the spell threatens to break it, and release whatever was inside.”  
  
“You hear that, boys? Hands to yourself.” Tony readjusted his focus back on Loki. “Now, where were we?”  
  
“I think he was just about to explain what the hell he’s doing here,” Barton put it. Seriously, it was like he was made of stone: he  _still_  hadn’t wavered so much as half an inch. “And fast, if he knows what’s good for him.”  
  
Mentally Tony admired his commitment to the team, considering he was pretty sure the secret agent could’ve cared less about answers: he just wanted to see Loki captured, or preferably gone for good.  
  
But Tony definitely needed an explanation. “Yeah. So how about it? We’ll skip right over the how you got in – for now. I’m gathering the choice of location was a matter of convenience. What’s your reason for summoning up what looks like the illegitimate lovechild of Elvira and the Cryptkeeper?”  
  
“Who is she, brother?” Thor snarled.  
  
Loki tilted his head back again, this time like he was trying to retain his air of superiority. “In truth I don’t actually know,” he admitted.  
  
There was a beat. “Oh, so this is like magic Chatroulette?” Tony offered gamely. “There are much easier ways to find a date, you know…”  
  
“Must you speak in nothing but lies and riddles?” Thor’s voice rose again. “Is she another of your allies?”  
  
Loki’s expression soured. “Hardly,” he said, sounding several shades of displeased. “In fact the very reason I created the summoning spell is that I know she is a potential dangerous foe.”  
  
“Go on,” Tony drawled.  
  
Loki’s eyes moved slowly, taking in each of the three of them in turn as he spoke. “For some time now I’ve been aware of some sort of…malevolent force out there, among the cosmos, eclipsing the connection I feel to the worlds across worlds. I wished to learn more of this threat, and so, I was able to muster the strength to reach out and bring it here. For questioning.”  
  
“Makes sense, to a point,” Barton remarked. “Someone fires a shot at you, you turn into it, figure out where it’s coming from before you try and fire one back.”  
  
“Back it up for a space here.” Tony frowned. “What’s this ‘worlds across worlds’ business? And all the…other stuff you just said that made no sense to me at all.”  
  
The responding gaze that got from Loki was a whole new level of disdainful. “Our realm of existence, vast as it is in ways you cannot fathom, is not all there is. Beyond the furthest reaches, there are other worlds. Worlds occupied by similar beings living similar destinies, though sometimes the sameness is far less than the differences.”  
  
“Are you talking about parallel realities?” Tony said disbelievingly, though he felt he might finally be catching on. “Like, a whole other Earth, and another Asgard-”  
  
“Another set of Avengers,” Thor said softly, looking stunned. “Another version of myself.” His eyes flashed onto his brother. “Another Loki.”  
  
There was something dark that glittered in Loki’s gaze for the brief moment he held his brother’s eyes. “Indeed. A multitude of my alternate selves, all connected in a way we are usually unaware of. Trim a single leaf and the branch it sprouts from continues on unbothered. But trim another leaf, and another, and another, a hundred leaves, all in rapid succession, and the rest of the organism begins to feel it.”  
  
“And that’s what you think that creep in there is doing?” Tony jerked a metal-coated thumb over his shoulder. “Going door to door across the universes and killing you off in each one?”  
  
Loki straightened, moving his arms in a way that seemed strangely reminiscent of smoothing down ruffled feathers. “She comes from some other realm, far away from our own. But some version of me angered her, made her enemy.”   
  
Suddenly he moved forward, slipping past Thor before he could be stopped, coming closer to Tony who he directed his words at.  
  
Looming over him the taller man pressed palm flat against the center of Tony’s chestplate, near to the light from the RT. Knowing Loki was trying to mess with him, Tony held his ground.  
  
“She seeks to find him out and have her revenge,” Loki said, in a tone that was all false outrage and mock reasonableness. “Until then it seems she’ll take out any other version of me that gets in her way.”  
  
“I see,” Tony replied thickly, otherwise refusing to give a reaction.  
  
Thor snatched at Loki by the corner of his arm and pushed him back out of the way again, glowering. Loki allowed it, evidently deciding since his head games plot had failed not to try any other.  
  
Barton said archly, “Someone hates you so much that they want to kill you multiple times, over and over. Hard to imagine.” Loki shot him an aggravated look.  
  
“Gee, though, if you know all that, wouldn’t that make bringing her here to you incredibly stupid?” Tony had to ask, semi-rhetorically.  
  
But Loki shook his head with adamant stiffness. “You fail to see the obvious.  _She_  is not really  _here._  Only a fraction of her is. Her…spiritual essence, let us say. Meanwhile her physical self lies as if in a trance back wherever she came from. There is nothing what I brought here can do to physically harm me.”  
  
“So then why do you care so much about not letting the genie out of its bottle?”  
  
“He said there was nothing she could do to cause  _physical_  harm,” Thor said darkly, meaningfully, as he glanced to meet Tony’s gaze.  
  
Well, that was nice and ominous. He shut his eyes for a second to try and clear his thoughts.  
  
“Okay,” he said out loud. “That’s great, and all. Let’s say I even pretend to believe you. Now where does that leave us?”  
  
“Exactly where we started,” Barton argued. “None of this makes any difference to us. This guy here still needs to be locked up before he can do any more damage.”  
  
Thor stole a look at Loki before saying, “Agreed. But, the rest. Is it not…troubling?”  
  
“It’s none of our business,” the archer retorted. “If there really is a problem, let him sort it out himself. Assuming he can.”  
  
Thor’s brow wrinkled, and he didn’t seem entirely happy with that suggestion. Tony – wasn’t sure how he felt, himself. He wasn’t burdened by an overabundance of concern for Loki’s wellbeing, but there was something about the whole general scenario that was, as Thor had put it, “troubling”. Somehow, the idea they could muck around with alternate realities and then just let it go didn’t seem right.  
  
He was waiting for Loki to say something again. Or if not to put his two cents in, to at least make a move finally.   
  
But he looked up in time to see Loki shifting his weight back a little on his heels, stepping just enough to peer past them into the nearby room.  
  
“You really don’t want him to do that,” he remarked.  
  
The problem with the suit was, even in a more flexible model like the M-42, he couldn’t turn really fast. Still Tony spun around quickly as he could possibly manage, just in time to see one of the guards wandering way too close to the evil spirit lurking inside her glass jar.  
  
“No!” Tony yelled, and stretched out a hand, alarm bells going off in his head at the sight.  
  
Too late. The man was directly in front of the figure leering at him, and couldn’t seem to resist sticking his hand through the invisible barrier.   
  
Maybe she’d even lured him over somehow. They would never know.  
  
Everything happened way too quickly for any of the Avengers to make a move. The guards’ hand seemed to hit something and there was a small explosion. The room lit up in a burst of blinding light and sparks flew. The ghost reached out, lighting quick – the man made a cry of pain.  
  
There was another pop, and a flash, even more dramatic than the first. Tony flipped his visor down instinctively and turned away with a wince. For a moment no one could see anything, and he felt the ripple from outplaced force brush against him.  
  
When they looked again the other guards had either been knocked down or thrown against the wall. There was soot, scorch marks, and the design Loki had made on the floor was already half gone, what remained flickering fast and fading.  
  
There was no sign of the woman. The guard she’d attacked was crawling slowly on the floor, dragging his body forward. His movements were jerky and disoriented.  
  
His eyes bulged, unseeing and frantic. Something dark trickled from the corner of his mouth.  
  
Tony had precisely enough time to start taking one step forward to try and help him. Then the man froze where he was, lifting up off his elbows partially – and then violently he began to spew something from his mouth.  
  
Tony skidded back again with a curse, feeling Barton and Thor pressing up close behind them. As they watched, shocked, something black and sticky wasn’t so much vomited as it seemed to be _crawling_  its way up from the hapless victim’s throat.  
  
The black stuff wriggled, and shimmered, and when there was finally enough of it lifted up into the air, twisting around in a consistency like smoke until it blinked in and out once more and finally resolved itself into the semi-translucent image of the same woman.  
  
She had one hand to each side of her head, fingers pressed to her temple with her thumbs at her chin. Eyes closed she rolled her neck, seeming to catch her balance until she dropped her arms.  
  
Meanwhile the man lay on his back near her feet, eyes and mouth both open, obviously dead.  
  
“Ugh.” The woman twitched, as if had been some usual, minor inconvenience. “I hate doing that.”  
  
Tony stared down at the body of the lifeless security guard through the filters of the HUD, gaping senselessly as series of computerized markers helpfully pointed out how dead he was.  
  
There was panic threading its way up and down his spine, bordering on the same screaming sense of high alert, high definition he’d been plunged into during the battle in Manhattan; that sense that he tried to ignore even while his instincts were telling him he was in way over his head. That the things he was encountering had left the realm of natural, and normal, far behind.  
  
Bodiless specters that flickered like light bulbs and killed gruesomely. Things from another world.  
  
 _Well, this is a whole new kind of horror show_ , he thought. Telling himself to keep breathing steady, that it was okay, he could handle it (somehow) he stepped into the room, placing himself between the rest of the guards and the killer witch-ghost. He might’ve complained ceaselessly about their presence to Happy, but they were still his people,  _his_  responsibility.  
  
Once he’d braced himself he looked back the way he came, agitatedly.  
  
 _“Don’t suppose you’d care to offer any – suggestions.”_  He trailed off as he realized Loki was nowhere in sight.  _“And of course he’s gone.”_  
  
Loki had probably disappeared the second they were distracted by what his former captive was up to. Never mind he had started the whole mess in the first place. She was solely  _their_  problem now.  
  
It didn’t surprise Tony in the least.  
  
The woman stood in place, looking up and around with half-interest. Her image still flickered in and out like a bad channel on a very old TV set. Other than that, though, she appeared unnervingly solid. And…present.  
  
She glanced over at Tony, taking him in with a gaze that didn’t seem quite human. Her eyes were too cold, too hard, and she never blinked or shifted slightly in her gaze. She was just downright creepy.  
  
Dismissing him after a moment or two, she turned and walked towards the way out, casual as she pleased.  
  
Thor took a wary step back, never taking his eyes off her as he lifted his hammer at the ready. Barton had re-sheathed his bow. Drawing a small knife he moved to intercept her.  
  
But the woman didn’t attack him. She didn’t do anything to show she even registered him. She moved forward and then walked right through him - in her wake Barton suddenly had to grasp the nearby wall for support, face pale as he struggled for air, making short choking sounds.  
  
Without looking back the lady in black kept right on walking down the hallway, around the corner and out of sight.  
  
When he came closer, alarmed, Barton reached out and grabbed onto Tony by the arm of his suit. “Don’t touch her,” he warned through clenched teeth, still catching his breath.  
  
Tony nodded.  _“Got it. You going to be okay?”_  
  
The other man wheezed, but he shook his head impatiently, pulling away to stand on his own.  
  
“You know when people say ‘Feels like somebody walked over my grave’? I never got that. Until just now.”  
  
“Stark!” Thor yelled. “She is heading for the lift devices!”  
  
“Go on,” Barton instructed Tony. “I’ll catch up.”  
  
There really wasn’t much space to argue. Tony rushed after Thor, who was making a beeline after their target. She had already reached the elevators though.  
  
“I think I will take another look,” she was murmuring to herself out loud, thoughtfully. “See if I can find a few things out about this world.”  
  
She looked back, saw them standing there, and gave a mocking smile, her eyes widening a bit.  
  
“Oh, thank you for your hospitality.” She snapped her fingers; her form flickered especially strongly and at the same time there was a flare of electricity as the elevator doors slid open. “But I can find my own way from here.”  
  
She walked inside the elevator,  _through_  the elevator, and was gone.  
  
 _“JARVIS? Please tell me she’s giving off some kind of energy signature and you can track her.”  
  
“Faintly, Sir, but yes. Though it will take me some moments to calibrate.”  
  
“Do it fast.”_ To Thor, he went on,  _“We know she’s gotta be going up, right? So, let’s go up.”_  
  
Thor nodded swiftly in agreement. He spun Mjolnir around by the handle until it resembled a pinwheel, while Tony fired up his thrusters.  
  
They burst through the ceiling and up into the next floor, then the next, then next, without any pause, two soaring rockets making adjacent holes as they battered through one level to the next.  
  
And he had  _just_  finished with the renovations not that long ago, too. Right then though he didn’t give a damn. If there was anyone he wanted traipsing around the inside of his building less than Loki, it might be this monster woman who couldn’t be kept out by doors, bodies or walls. Who knew how many interns she might slaughter if they didn’t evict her, fast.  
  
 _“JARVIS?”  
  
“I believe I’ve located her, Sir. She’s within the residential floors now, somewhere within the common living space.”_  
  
The residential floors. The rooms he’d designed and put in specifically for the members of the team. Could it be a coincidence that was where she had gone?  
  
 _“C’mon. Punch it. No, no, Viking One – there’s been a change in course.”_  He managed to successfully flag Thor’s attention and got him to follow as they smashed out a window instead.  _“This’ll be faster.”_  
  
Shards of broken glass rained all around. They were nothing to him in the suit, of course, and Thor acted like he didn’t even feel them.  
  
Outside of the building there was nothing to slow them down and nobody to look out for. They had free range to soar as fast as they could, all the way to the floor JARVIS was pointing them at. They re-entered the building at that point the same way they had exited.  
  
 _“Man, I don’t even want to think about the bill for today.”_  He’d have to make sure Pepper had a glass or wine or five before she saw it. Maybe a Valium.  _“Honey, I’m home!”_  
  
Glass crunching beneath his boots, Tony stomped his way around, using both his visor-assisted eyes and the plethora of feedback data he was getting to search for his target.  
  
 _“Where the hell are you, Corpse Bride?”_  he muttered aloud in frustration.  
  
Not that he really knew what he’d do when he found her. Loki’s claim that she wasn’t really ‘here’ on this physical plane was possibly iffy, but he’d already seen proof that solid objects passed through her. It wasn’t as if all his ammo did any good.  
  
Maybe the lightning from Thor’s hammer would work, though? Since it was allegedly also magic and all?  
  
He looked to his ally.  _“You see anything?”_  
  
“Nay. Not yet.” Thor peered around with almost comical intensity. “There!” he yelled, and Tony looked just in time to see a black and white specter flitting out of sight.  
  
 _“Come on, after her.”_  Thor rushed off and of course Tony found himself immediately well outpaced. That was the thing with the armor: it was only in the  _air_  that it was built for speed.  
  
“Okay, screw this.”  
  
Lifting his arms he let the Mark-42 release itself, components falling to a heap around him on the floor. It wasn’t as if it was doing him any good at present anyway. He could always collect it later.  
  
Kicking a piece of armor aside absently he jogged after Thor.  
  
He caught up to the both of them without too much trouble. The sinister otherworldly woman was walking around at her leisure, though there was a purposeful intent to her stride. She was already past the den and lounge area, and was making her way down the hallway between rooms, turning herself in the occasional circles to better take in her surroundings.  
  
“The timing seems right,” she was saying to herself. “No. This place does not seem much far removed from the world I originally started again. Although, really, who can tell? It is so hard to know for sure…”  
  
Thor was following her in heated pursuit though he was being careful to stay a short distance back. She never acknowledged that she noticed him there, nor Tony when he joined them.  
  
“What is she talking about?” Tony asked Thor in a heated murmur. “What’s going on?”  
  
“I’m afraid your guess is as good as mine.” Thor’s head moved this way and that, never daring to let the woman out of his line of sight.  
  
And just when Tony was thinking things were calm enough it might be a good time to try his theory about Mjolnir working on her, a door slid open behind them.  
  
“Hey, guys…” Darcy wandered out – what was she  _doing_  up here? – careless as she pleased, until she spotted the ghost woman and stopped in her tracks. “Oh my god.”  
  
She and the others must have moved upward to take shelter, not having any idea what was going on in the basement or how long it might last. That was Tony’s best guess, which he was forced to make while trying not to panic.  
  
Jane was visible through the open doorway just behind Darcy, a fact which was making Thor’s eyes go wide with horror.  
  
Of course, Tony pretty much expected the invader to ignore their presence as much as she had nearly everyone else so far.  
  
But that wasn’t what happened. Her head turned at the sound of the voice, searchingly. And when she saw the two women her eyes went wide.  
  
“You,” she gasped. She stalked forward, hands outstretched with fingers curled like claws, upper body bent as if about to pounce. “You little harpy.  _You’re_  here?”  
  
“Thor,” Jane breathed quietly, holding completely still, terrified of drawing any further attention to herself.  
  
She hardly needed speak his name, though. Of course Thor was already rushing to her defense.  
  
“Stay you back, you ghastly conjurer,” he bellowed furiously, moving to intercept and protect Jane. “If you lay one hand on her I shall-!”  
  
The woman continued onward heedless. And to everyone’s surprise, they realized her focus wasn’t at all on Jane. It was on Darcy.  
  
“Oh, I remember you,” she continued, her voice a rough hiss, fixated. “I could never forget. That face. Oh yes, I  _know_  you, little lass. And you won’t get away from me, any more than  _he_  will.”   
  
Darcy shrunk back, Jane’s hands going protectively around her shoulders. Behind the younger woman’s glasses her eyes were wide, face an equal mixture of fear and bewilderment.  
  
As if recalling she was powerless physically, the woman stopped when she was an arm’s length away. Though her expression was no less crazed her demeanor grew more thoughtful.  
  
“And if you’re here, so close to the rest of them, then it must be so,” she concluded out loud. “I  _must_  be on the right track.”  
  
Everyone else remained frozen in place, helpless, exchanging confused glances with one another. Thor looked incensed, poised to attack but aware of his own futility. Both girls just seemed terrified. And Tony, for once, couldn’t think of a single thing to say.  
  
What in the world was going on here today?  
  
The woman turned away again, still muttering, gesturing grandiosely to the air over her with both hands.  
  
“This place…it must be near to the other. Oh, it must. They cannot lie too far apart on the spectrum.” She took one purposeful step, then another, and then she was moving fast. “In fact, I think I can feel it.”  
  
Thor and Tony followed her once more. Jane and Darcy stayed right where they were, not that anyone would blame them.  
  
This time the woman entered the kitchen, ghosting partially through one of the walls. The doorway was nice and wide, Tony having purposefully designed around Thor’s broad shoulders. They both easily fit through in their haste.  
  
Considering the little amount of time the team had actually had to live there so far between missions, the expansive deluxe kitchen area Tony had seen fit to provide had mostly gone unused. There were a lot of clean tiled walls and marble countertops, everything laid out in an orderly and useful fashion, with just about every appliance a person could dream of. There was a fridge, a walk-in freezer, a double stovetop, and a dining table spread out in a nice wide area for sitting down and eating in. Of course, the whole room was empty, inactive.  
  
But the woman wasn’t acting as if that was the case. She acted as if she saw, or maybe heard something, eyes searching over what looked like the empty air overhead and between objects.  
  
“Yes, yes…very close. Very close indeed…”  
  
Before Tony could say what he was thinking to Thor, which was he was starting to suspect their new friend might be as delusional as she was generally dangerous, from the corner of her eye he saw her reach out and grab…something.  
  
Just when Tony thought what happened so far couldn’t possibly get any weirder, it turned out he was about to be proven incredibly wrong.  
  
There was a strange loud noise, a mixture of more static and the resonant echo of paper tearing. The air around the woman’s hand was warping in a funny way. She was making a gesture like she was peeling back a long scrap of wallpaper.   
  
And the image of the very room in front of her was coming along with it.  
  
“Oh no.” The words were out of Tony’s mouth before he could help himself, practically numb with incredulity. “No way. This is not happening.”  
  
But it was. Like pulling back an especially thick curtain, somehow, with what looked like her bare hands, the otherworldly ghoul swept aside the very fabric of their reality, revealing what was on the other side.  
  
It looked almost like a clever magic trick. When she stepped back out of the way the room was split nearly in half by an imaginary line she’d drawn by her actions. The air was thicker in that space, images slightly distorted, looking like some kind of force field.  
  
One side of the kitchen held Tony and Thor. The other side appeared to be an almost identical kitchen, with slightly different décor and appliances. Except there was one other big difference: their version of the room had been empty, while this new one was not.  
  
Gathered around the doppelgänger kitchen, leaning against the counters and sitting at the table, sharing donuts and coffee as they had a comfortable chat were…themselves. They were laughing and acting casual in a way that jarred with the team Tony knew. They weren’t really ‘there’ yet.   
  
But he saw Natasha there, and Barton, and Steve. No sign of Bruce. But there was also another version of him and Thor.  
  
“By Valhalla,” Thor breathed, shocked and almost reverent.  
  
“You said it, pal,” Tony agreed. He took a step forward and then couldn’t bring himself to move any closer. He studied their counterparts carefully from a distance.  
  
There were little differences all over the room. The other him had more silver-gray in his hair. Cap’s uniform was different, and so was Thor’s armor. Natasha’s get-up was the same though her hair was much longer, similar to the spiral curls she’d been sporting when she and Tony first met. Barton had a scar running across one arm that Tony knew he didn’t in this world.  
  
So there they were. The Avengers of another reality. Their parallel selves.  
  
It was impossibly cool. It was also more than a bit disorienting. The ground didn’t feel entirely steady underneath Tony’s feet.  
  
By now the people on the other side of the tear had also noticed what was going on. The smiles had gone from their faces as they stared back across the collision of the two worlds in wary dismay.  
  
Other Thor wandered closer, trying to get a better look, while the rest of the team hung back, watching attentively with postures ready for a fight if need be.  
  
 _Can they hear us?_  Tony wondered.  _Should I wave?_  He lifted his hand and made a faint, passable gesture.  
  
There was a beat and then, hilariously, the other Tony gave a brief twitching smile and waved back.  
  
Apparently, the two of them were about on the same mental wavelength. Not that it was really that much of a surprise.  
  
The second group of Avengers appeared collectively more unsettled than they were nervous or afraid. Things like this didn’t happen every day, even to people like them – but they probably didn’t expect they had anything to fear from  _themselves._  
  
But then the other version of Thor laid eyes on the black-haired woman. He did something of a double-take, and then his vision honed in on her with laser-like focus.  
  
“You,” he exclaimed. The words were fainter and distorted, like being carried underwater, but his voice could still be heard loud and clear. The astonishment was swept from his face as it contorted into a mask of rage. “Selene Kinslayer!”  
  
He rushed at the rippling wall between them, pounding with his fist as if he meant to break in.  
  
And the object of his ire pointed at him, her face triumphant. She stepped backward gracefully, laughing all the way.  
  
It was not a pleasant sound. If there had been any lingering doubt in Tony’s mind until now she was a villain, that laugh of hers proved it.  
  
“I  _found_  you,” the woman – Selene, apparently – crowed. “I knew it! This world is but one step away from the one I mean to reach.” She spread her hands, indicating the space around her, and then chuckled to herself some more, pleased.  
  
There was one last glance of the frightened, angry look on the other Thor’s face before Selene reached out one hand in the direction of the veil, made a fist and twisted it. There was a ripple across the space and then the tear closed, the other world disappeared.  
  
She continued, “And now that I have a good idea where this is…it will be much easier to find the way.”  
  
She kept on moving backwards, still facing them, her form fading and flickering faster now.  
  
“Thank you all, so much. Farewell.”  
  
Thor was shaken but watching her with all the more suspicion now after seeing the way his other self had reacted to her. Too late he lunged forward, trying to attack.  
  
But Selene gave a bow, one arm swept back as she bent forward, and with one last low chuckle, vanished completely from sight.  
  
“Well,” Tony had to say sardonically after a long, tense, hair-raising pause, “what are the odds, you think, that we’ve seen the last of her?”


	4. Eclipse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first started working on this story it was my intention to keep to a rate of a chapter a week. As you can probably tell, I haven't been able to meet that goal, considering this part is three weeks overdue. Sorry, guys. I've got a lot of different things going on in real life right now that are time-consuming and problematic. I'm still going to try and do my best to keep this relatively on schedule, but I'm going to have to ask for patience and understanding if there are further delays.
> 
> (Oh, also, in case anyone notices: I'm going to be changing the story summary, since I realized as is the description reads heavily of Continuity Lockout. Maybe that'll boost this work's abysmally low hits/kudos/comments count a bit.)

Once upon a time (and wasn’t  _that_  a fitting way to begin with any story), Jane Foster spent all her time looking to the stars.  
  
Things like friends, a social life, hobbies, dating…all these had fallen to the wayside. Jane was consumed by her work, by the siren call of numbers and equations, of figures and collected data-points on neat little computer-generated graphs. She lived a meek life defined solely by her role as scientist, and was  _glad_  for it.  
  
Not just because she thought her work was important, because she believed in it, but because it made her happy. Others might look at what she was and call it boring, wondering how she did it – to her it was anything but.  
  
So her days passed by up to her elbows in figures scrawled out in smeared pencil and disjointed, meditative, ink-stained pen, and she stayed into the late hours every night peering through a telescope, collecting and writing down numbers. And she was happy. She had everything she needed.  
  
Because where most people saw dots on a page, or symbols in black and white, she saw entire galaxies. Universes of untold possibility out there, waiting to be explored.  
  
Numbers and figures and equipment strung together in fervor by her own two hands. Reaching for her goals, feeling the rush of every moment spent on the journey getting there.  
  
She kept her eyes to the heavens and her stars, head awash in dancing constellations. They were the only things she saw or needed to see. Her only concern the world of those far-off lights.  
  
But that had been some time ago. And now she lived a different life.  
  
A life where she was a married woman, a queen, and a mother. A life where her day-to-day was occupied by a whole mess of concerns she couldn’t brush aside, or ignore. Where she officially attended social gatherings, had a list of things to oversee the running of, squeezed in time with her husband where she could, and then did everything to make sure her children were clean and happy and well-behaved.  
  
A life where the bulk of her scientific work had long been completed and compiled, papers presented and exclaimed over and then put away on a shelf, to be examined later by the generations to come after.  
  
She still poked at her numbers and figures, the occasional chart, when she could. But now it was more a fond indulgence than a passion.  
  
And her little battered notebook that she once carried with her everywhere had been retired. It still carried a mark of significance, because hidden amongst its pages was documentation of one of the most significant times in her life. But like many trophies its honor was an absent-minded one, a dusty reverence from where it had been tucked away between volumes at the top of her bookshelf.  
  
She still glanced up to the stars. They still held interest for her – it was just now, she simply didn’t have the time.  
  
And it didn’t bother her nearly as much as she might’ve once thought.  
  
Nowadays she spent her time with other books – like the one full of stories she had currently open on her lap, sitting down in the garden as she read to her little ones.  
  
 _“If Jill had been more used to adventures, she might have doubted the owl’s word,”_  Jane was narrating to them clearly as her eyes walked across the pages,  _“but this never occurred to her, and in the exciting idea of a midnight escape she forgot her sleepiness.”_  
  
Cordelia sat with her legs crossed and her hands folded, rosy-cheeked and attentive. She was getting too old for story time, or at least starting to get too old to be read to instead of doing it on her own, but she still enjoyed listening to the sound of her mother’s voice. And Arthur, her younger brother, loved any story so long as it contained some aspect of battles or adventure. He crouched next to his sister, bouncing up and down in excitement, silently and sometimes vocally encouraging Jane to go on.  
  
Magni, meanwhile, was still only a toddler, and lay flopped on the blanket between his older brother and his mother’s knees. He didn’t really understand everything said, but he seemed happy listening regardless.  
  
While outwardly Jane might’ve seemed entirely concerned with reading, in reality she was engaged in a slight bit of multitasking. As the outpour of words continued steadily over her mouth, she glanced to take in the three little figures in front of her with fond scrutiny.  
  
Cordelia without a doubt was the one that looked the most like her. Both the boys had their father’s blond hair, his bright blue eyes, and she could tell they were already showing some of his features in their small but identical noses. Magni’s hair had already grown into a thick tuft, and Arthur’s mane reached well past his shoulders; the same style that his father had worn apparently when he was his age, and as a result the spirited young prince refused to let anyone trim, no matter how difficult it became at times to manage.  
  
Cordelia by contrast had finer strands of brown hair that lay obediently flat, and was pale in comparison to the golden complexion of her brothers.  
  
Jane was far from worried. All of Asgard sang songs and crowed praises about their queen’s beauty; and if they thought Jane was so remarkably beautiful, no doubt once her daughter was grown up they would think her so too.  
  
(While she didn’t consider herself homely, the queen shrewdly thought the remarks over her looks were more a self-fulfilling prophecy. The other Asgardians must think: surely, she must be _stunning_  that their king could’ve fallen in love with a mortal. And so they talked about it again and again, building her up in their minds until when they looked at her, the saw the radiance they’d imagined.)  
  
She kept on reading, taking pleasure from watching the enraptured looks on their tiny faces, and was just reaching the end of the chapter when out of the corner of her eye she saw a shadow moving by the end of the garden.  
  
The green and gold of his layered robes nearly blending in among the sun-dappled plants of the garden, her brother-in-law crept forward with a languid, almost silent gait.  
  
His hands laced behind his back Loki met her eyes with a smile, giving a nod to indicate she should continue on, that there was no need to make note of his presence.  
  
It was pointless, though. The sharp eyes of Jane’s children had spotted her own gaze wandering, and curiously they had twisted about in their seats.  
  
“Uncle Loki!” Arthur squealed and Cordelia cried, the former up like a shot and racing toward him, the latter gathering up her skirts in her hands as she ran close behind.  
  
Jane stayed where she was and laughed to herself, closing the book and putting it away. Maybe it was the size of the palace that somehow made her kids act as if they didn’t already see Loki every single day.  
  
Loki bent far forward at the waist so he was as on level with Arthur’s much smaller height as best he could be. With an amused grin he greeted his nephew by putting hands on his shoulders, stopping him just short of barreling directly into his body.  
  
“What now, you little sprite,” he chuckled, resting a hand on Arthur’s head and tousling his hair. “Always so excitable! You run to me any faster and you might hurt your poor mother’s feelings.”  
  
“Have you got anything for us, Uncle?” Cordelia asked in the blunt way that only the very young could get away with.  
  
“Now I see how it is. I’ve spoiled you too much and ruined you for the pleasures of my company,” Loki said, mock-hurt. “You don’t care about me at all, only for the trinkets I can give you. Very well.”  
  
He gave them each a silver coin, polished and shiny as if it was brand new. Cordelia ‘oooh’ed over hers admiringly and pocketed it with care, while Arthur clutched his tight in his little fist and all but promptly forgot about it, bouncing up and down.  
  
“Is Skadi with you?” he demanded eagerly.  
  
“ _Is_  she? And can’t you see for yourself? Where would I be concealing her, in my sleeve – I think she’s far too big for that. Don’t you?” Loki returned to him merrily, mouth stretched in an indulgent smile. “No, no; but she is back from her latest trip. I think you can find her near the training ring.”  
  
He stood up quickly to let Arthur rush past him, for an instant looking like he ran the risk of being trampled by a miniature stampede of one.  
  
The young prince idolized Skadi, impressed and hanging on her every action as one of Asgard’s finest up and coming warriors. Whenever he could Arthur followed his older cousin like a puppy, pressing her for stories and hanging on her every word. Jane often heard tales of Skadi’s latest adventures relayed to her in her son’s eager voice.  
  
Cordelia wasn’t anywhere near as enthralled as her brother was, but she ran after him anyway, buoyed along by his enthusiasm. Both her oldest children gone Jane stood, and gathered up Magni to hand him off to the nursemaid that had been waiting patiently on the sidelines. The other woman departed, and the queen and her brother-in-law were left alone.  
  
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Loki said to her, an offhand apology.  
  
Jane shook her head. “It’s not a problem. If anything, it’s the opposite.” Absently she smoothed down the front of her dress, chuckling disparagingly to herself. “When you have more than one kid at once and you spend most of every day around them, you get to that point where you start to really miss talking with adults.” She gave him a knowing smirk. “I could use a break once in a while.”  
  
“I certainly understand.”   
  
Loki’s children were wild and what Darcy liked to call ‘free-range’, but definitely there had been a time Jane remembered when he’d been visibly exhausted, frustrated, and couldn’t go anywhere without one or more of them clinging to his hand.  
  
He nodded to her. “In that case, your majesty, I am all too happy to provide the excuse for your temporary relief.”  
  
“You do us a royal honor,” Jane replied sweetly, primly, playing the part of the lofty queen in small doses for her own amusement.  
  
Loki pretended to take her at her word but she could see the laughter in his eyes as he bowed, and he dropped the pretense in favor of a more accurate familial closeness a moment later.  
  
“How are you today?”  
  
“I’m fine. Busy, and with nothing of real importance,” she remarked as she gathered up her book and some forgotten childish drawings, “but fine. And how about you?”  
  
“If you have time later we could meet in the observatory. I’m sure there are a few old books on comets we’ve yet to go over,” Loki offered. The two of them had spent the occasional afternoon pouring over star charts down the years, heads bowed in intense concentration as they translated for one another.  
  
“That would be nice, maybe.” Jane looked up at him. “Should I be reading anything into the fact that you didn’t answer my question?”  
  
“Oh, I’m quite fine as well, myself.” Loki gave a careless shrug. “There’s nothing to report.”  
  
But his voice was quieter and he didn’t look back at her as he said it, the focus of his gaze having become distant and restless. Jane frowned.  
  
“Are you sure?” When he frowned back at her, she shook her head, almost laughing. “You don’t have to  _tell_  me anything. I’m just making concerned conversation. That’s all.”  
  
“I haven’t been sleeping entirely well,” Loki admitted softly. Jane took a better look at his face and realized on closer examination that yes, he did look a note paler than usual, and there were some shadows collected underneath his eyes.  
  
“Bad dreams?” she guessed, gentle, filled with friendly concern. He was prone to them from time to time; though normally he hid it well, and Jane only learned about them in whispers from Darcy.  
  
“Nothing so obvious.” Loki’s expression turned introspective, and he sighed. “It’s really nothing so concrete. But lately, for a while now, I’ve been plagued by this sense of…foreboding.”  
  
“Really?” Jane tried to ignore the anxious flutter of her pulse in her breast. Loki was far from a seer, but his mystical affinities meant every once in a while his intuition ran more towards prophecy. A bad feeling from him wasn’t always just ‘a bad feeling’. “About what?”  
  
His frown took on a note of mild frustration. “I couldn’t say. That’s the problem.” He looked away again, musing out loud. “For some time I’ve been unable to shake these thoughts that something dark lurks on the horizon. That something bad is coming.”  
  
Jane moved closer, sympathetically, and laid a hand on his arm and was just about to offer some words of encouragement.   
  
But they were interrupted by the appearance of another figure at the edge of the garden.  
  
“Thor,” Jane remarked, in elated surprise. Despite herself she nearly forgot Loki entirely, hurrying to greet her husband.  
  
Thor had been gone for the past few days to Earth on a sort of unofficial Avengers reunion. His showing up like this so suddenly was an unexpected treat.  
  
As soon as she reached his side Jane threw her arms around him, pressing her face into his chest. They slept together every night, ate their meals side by side – but sometimes it seemed as if she hardly ever got to be alone with him. He had so many duties as king. And she missed him whenever he was gone.  
  
“I didn’t think I would see you again so soon.” Jane pulled back so she could look up at him, and the smile faded from her face.  
  
Though Thor had embraced her back, putting one hand to her cheek and caressing her hair, he didn’t look entirely happy. In fact he seemed anything but. His face was dark, and troubled.  
  
“What’s wrong?” she asked slowly. “Did something happen?”  
  
Thor gave a heavy, somber nod.  
  
“I am afraid so.”   
  
He gazed past Jane towards what was behind her, and her heart sank as she turned to look back and saw Loki standing there, his face blank and his mouth pressed into a grim, resolute line.  
  
“Forgive me, Jane. I would I were in the mood to celebrate our reunion more properly. But for now, I must have important words with my brother.”  
  
*  
  
Whenever Clint got hurt, be it on a mission, in training, or even just a freak accident, normally he would do his best to shrug it off, no matter how severe.   
  
Everything from broken bones to ragged gashes in his skin to a dislocated jaw – he would inevitably be the guy everyone else was staring at while his superior yelled at him to drag his ass down to medical because he was walking funny and bleeding all over the floor.  
  
Once, he had stood too close to an explosion and blown out an eardrum. Because he was in the field and they were up to their necks in the thick of it, he didn’t slow down or even say anything.  
  
Almost three days went by before his handlers realized he was running around with partial temporary deafness. Now that had been a good time.  
  
 _“Suicidal tendencies”_  had floated in and out of his psychological assessments, getting scratched off only to get penciled back in again, for as long as he had been with SHIELD.  
  
Possibly longer; he wasn’t sure how long his file went back. Naturally, he wasn’t allowed to look at it.  
  
Thing is, it wasn’t that he was trying to look tough, though, no matter what anyone thought. It was a habit ingrained in him from how he was raised, never to think much of the damage done to his body, never to raise a fuss. He would heal. And pain was nothing, only a symptom of living.  
  
But after the way he’d felt when that evil ghoul of a woman walked through him at the Tower, the first chance he got Clint went to get checked out by the doctors, straight away.   
  
This was one time he didn’t  _need_  to be told.  
  
They didn’t find anything wrong with him: not that he’d really expected them to. He had a feeling he was probably fine and there was no lasting damage. Still, he’d wanted to be…sure. They tested his heart and his brain and ran an EKG and came back with a unanimous thumbs-up, no faulty wiring. He was good to go.  
  
Clint nodded stoically and didn’t say anything, sticking true to his pattern. Continuing to not raise a fuss.  
  
And all the while he sat there and listened to the sound of his own breathing, making sure he was still doing it evenly; making sure his lungs weren’t seizing up or the air wasn’t getting caught in his throat, making certain he wasn’t running himself ragged.  
  
He tried not to dwell on that unearthly chilly feeling, on that cold that had cut through him straight down to his bones. On how for that one split second, he was convinced everything – and he meant everything - in his body, had just stopped.  
  
And he tried not to think about how it was the second worst thing he had ever experienced in his life – and that he was incredibly irked to admit, it was even a very  _close_  second.  
  
Meanwhile, though, he was standing on the bridge of the Helicarrier, which had somehow over time become the unofficial conference room whenever Fury needed to gather the Avengers for a team meeting. Clint glanced down and then back up again, outwardly collected and unperturbed as the director stalked back and forth in his long black trenchcoat.  
  
“Let me see if I’m understanding this right,” the man began, putting his own spin on the conversation that had been in progress for several minutes now. “By the time Stark and Thor got everything sorted, the rest of the team was still too far away, and there was no sign of Loki.”  
  
“Unfortunately,” Rogers sighed, his shoulders set especially tight, “that would be the summation of it, sir.”  
  
“Pitifully unimpressive as it was, there really was nothing we could do,” Stark put in. “You saw the tape.”  
  
There wasn’t even a nod from the director to acknowledge this, but he had. Turned out Stark putting cameras just about everywhere in his building for once wasn’t mildly creepy but actually quite useful. There had been fairly high-resolution footage of everything that happened after the three of them confronting Loki, including Selene’s disembodied foray into the building. The group of them had watched it together in near silence, broken only when Tony or Thor put in the occasional bit of narration to explain certain things.  
  
Clint had been a little surprised that Selene had even showed up on the footage. If he’d had to think about it, he probably would’ve guessed she’d be somehow immune to audio or visual recording, like a ghost in an old horror movie. But evidently that was not the case.  
  
Real life, once again somehow turning slightly stranger than fiction.  
  
Fury’s expression was hovering somewhere between aghast and baleful. “So as of this moment we already have thousands of dollars in property damage, at least one known human casualty, and  _nothing_  to show for it.”  
  
“Hey, not that your faux concern isn’t touching, but that’s  _my_  property, chief. Don’t pretend like that it’s really your problem.”  
  
“As much of a relief it is to know that my tax dollars won’t be going towards this particular set of repairs, Mr. Stark, as of right now I’m unable to fully appreciate that.” Fury’s voice was completely flat.  
  
Stark only shrugged, unperturbed. Considering the massive amounts of damage Clint had even seen, he thought the other man was reacting fairly cavalier about it. Despite all the drywall he and Thor had torn up, he seemed to think repairs could be taken care of fairly quickly and with minimal aggravation on his part.  
  
Then again, he  _was_  a billionaire. Maybe this kind of thing really was just another day at the office to him.  
  
“We’re getting off-topic here,” Rogers broke in again, mildly peevish. “Shouldn’t we be talking about what it was that happened?”  
  
“What happened, Captain, as I seem to be hearing it, is that as of right now the situation with an escaped, destructive, insane mass-murderer has  _somehow_  gotten even worse,” Fury stated. Turning his back he stalked to his place in the center as he dropped the final word, “Which is impressive.”  
  
Rogers drew his jaw tight, Stark made a face, Thor shifted slightly and frowned, and Banner’s mouth twitched in that way like he was trying not to laugh bitterly.  
  
None of them, however, spoke up with a word to disagree.  
  
Clint knew  _he_  wasn’t going to. He knew Natasha well enough to know she wouldn’t, either. She was as pragmatic as he was – sometimes even more so.  
  
The coils and machinery around them hidden in the sleek walls hummed. There was the faint ever-present clicking and beeping sounds of the technicians at their stations. But in their corner of the bridge, all was complete silence. The air was thicker, pensive. For a few moments everyone seemed lost in thought.  
  
As much as certain members of their operation hated to agree with him sometimes, Fury was right about everything. Loki was back on Earth, they didn’t know where he was, and far as they knew he was just as powerful as before –potentially even more so, considering he’d revealed a few new tricks.  
  
Nothing that had happened at the Tower, that they had seen or heard or learned, changed any of that. It just made the situation stranger. And unsettling.  
  
Clint had his arms folded across his chest, back leaning against the wall as he gazed down at the floor past his boots. He had his best poker face on but despite himself, he could feel his brows coming together where they creased in grim contemplation.  
  
The fact that there was another world out there, close enough to their own that it could’ve been literally touched, was something that shouldn’t have mattered to him. So there was another him out there, virtually identical. So there was another team of Avengers that had formed up exactly the same. So what? When it came down to the bottom line, none of that had any effect on him.  
  
But it was hard to get the image out of his head, what they had all seen on the tape. That gap in the fabric of the universe, and a set of almost identical twins staring back at them from the other side.  
  
Aliens and space-travelers was one thing. But parallel worlds? The possibility he could fall through a hole somewhere and end up face to face with himself?   
  
The limits to what he was prepared to deal with kept getting pushed, harder and harder.  
  
And all the while he kept feeling echoes of the cold grasp that’d squeezed him, hanging over like a cloud he couldn’t shake off.  
  
And all the while, there was the main point that Loki was out there, they were going to have to fight him again. And no matter how he tried to keep himself in the mindset that it was another mission, it couldn’t be.  
  
Not with Loki. Not with what Clint still too clearly remembered happening to him. It could never be just another mission, because of that.  
  
He glanced up and found his eyes immediately meeting Natasha’s, who’d been looking back at him with cool, intent scrutiny for who knew how long. Probably about as long as he had been thinking.  
  
Her face was hard, in  _‘ready-set-go’_  battle mode; a blank and inscrutable mask. But as they looked to each other, exchanging a glance, Clint could read the faint concern in her eyes.  
  
They met each other’s gazes and held it, unblinkingly. And neither of them had to move a muscle or say a word. She didn’t have to ask if he was okay. He didn’t have to tell her he was fine.  
  
And she didn’t have to call him out and let him know that  _she_  knew he was lying. That he wasn’t completely fine.  
  
And Clint didn’t have to worry about her saying or doing anything about it. Natasha could worry, but she would trust him to try and handle it on his own.  
  
At least at first. If things got rough, no doubt she’d intervene.  
  
She didn’t have to tell him that, either.  
  
It was Thor who suddenly broke the silence by taking a step forward and deeply clearing his throat. Every pair of eyes shot to him automatically, whether they meant to or not.  
  
“So,” he began, seriously but uncertain, “what are we to do now?”  
  
Fury eyed him with his confident, tense air of cool control from his place on the central platform, arms out and hands gripping the rests in a way almost reminiscent of a king placed imperially on his throne.  
  
“What we’re going to do,” he responded, “is  _handle_  the situation. The same way we would if this little fiasco hadn’t occurred.” He nodded to Agent Hill, who stopped eyeing the underlings at their computer bays and came forward to listen even more attentively than she already had been. “We keep an eye out for Loki. He can be as sneaky as he likes but he has to surface eventually. He has to, considering we know he  _wants_  a confrontation. And then, when he pops up, we engage.”  
  
Turning his head he fixed his second-in-command in the sight of his one eye. “Agent Hill, I want you to head down to Surveillance. Make sure they’ve got the latest imagery data set up on Loki. I want the search up and running ASAP, planet-wide.”  
  
“Yes sir.”  
  
Hill gave the briefest of nods and then headed swiftly out, the door smoothly sliding shut behind her.  
  
“That may take care of my brother, at least for now,” Thor continued insistently. “But it is not so much him I was speaking of. What about this sorceress?”  
  
The director gave the Asgardian one of his flat, unimpressed looks. “What about her?”  
  
“This… _Selene_  is obviously an enemy to our counterparts in another world. If we are to put any faith in the things we observed as truth, it sounds as if she intends to pass through here! And then-”  
  
“Whoa, whoa. Hang on.” Stark waved at him. “Back it up for a second.” He coughed. “First of all - like you said – we can only base anything off what we heard and saw  _if_  we can put any faith in it being true.”  
  
“And considering Loki is involved, that’s a pretty big ‘if’,” Clint intoned.  
  
“I don’t know.” Dr. Banner spoke up musingly, surprising a few of them. “Obviously things are never entirely clear with Loki. We all know that. But for what he did at the Tower to be some kind of set-up, it doesn’t really make any sense. What would be the point?”  
  
“Considering I’m pretty sure Loki’s thought patterns might just run  _sideways_ , it might not be one that’s entirely obvious to the rest of us,” Stark muttered.  
  
Rogers nodded, from his expression similarly wary. “If we act at all on this intelligence, we run the risk of the entire thing being some kind of trap.”  
  
“I think Bruce may be right,” Natasha spoke up. Her composed, thoughtful expression showed she had been carefully weighing her thoughts, waiting for the right time to give input. “I’m not ruling out the possibility of a power play entirely, but it’s hard to see what he even stands to gain from it. It just doesn’t make sense.”  
  
There was a beat. “Well I guess if the  _spy_  can’t see where a double-cross factors in, there might be something to it,” Stark admitted. “But so what?”  
  
“Exactly,” Clint huffed.  
  
“‘So what’?” Thor echoed slowly, growing affronted. He turned to stare more closely into Stark’s face, towering over the man without even trying. Stark, cocky bastard that he was, barely gulped before holding his own ground. “We saw what that woman did at the Tower. And that was without physically being present!”  
  
His head turned from one of his teammates to the next, taking them all in, looking like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Like  _they_  were acting like the crazy ones.  
  
“You saw how my other self reacted. You heard that her intention was to come after Loki. Clearly, she is a threat.”  
  
“To Loki,” Fury emphasized. “I realize that to you he’s still considered family, but if this woman really becomes a problem, then she’s still  _his_  problem, not ours.”  
  
Thor gave an ugly, angry smile. He chuckled as he looked at the others again, this time disparagingly.  
  
“So we are to stand aside and let him be hunted down as a beast would,” he said, accusing. “For it is beneath us to care for any danger, so long as it is inconvenient to our enemies.”  
  
“Well it sounds horrible when you put it like that.” Banner’s tone was mild, even blasé. “No one’s suggesting we turn a blind eye, Thor. But going after a being who isn’t currently on this same physical dimension, as a preemptive move to protect somebody that hasn’t exactly done us any favors; it’s…it’s a little out of our jurisdiction.”  
  
“No one is saying that we leave Loki to die if he’s actually in need,” Rogers chimed in.  
  
“Out loud, nobody is saying that,” Stark of course couldn’t resist in a half-undertone, stealing a pointed look to Clint.  
  
Clint put his back up and stared at him evenly, arms still tightly folded. He didn’t owe anybody a defense or an explanation. No matter what shit Stark was trying to stir.  
  
The Captain of course ignored all that. “But you’re not wrong,” he continued, addressing Thor. “This person could clearly be dangerous, and we should be ready to have to try and deal with her – assuming she even makes it to our dimension.”  
  
“Forewarned is being forearmed, but there’s only so much we can do in preparation for such an unknown factor,” Natasha put in primly, shifting her weight absently to one side. “Until we know for certain that Selene will come here, we really don’t have much reason to give her our focus.”  
  
Thor had stood down slightly, his shoulders drooping. But he had the lingering manner of a man who still wanted to argue.  
  
“But Loki said she has already murdered him in other worlds. Her goals are no secret, and she stated her intention to come here. Should we not be more assured she will soon cross our paths?”  
  
“Considering what kind of people we’re dealing with here, I get the impression ‘soon’ is a little more relative,” Fury said in what for him counted as a soft, even a placating tone. “As Agent Romanov and Captain Rogers are suggesting, we can worry about all of that – later. Once we have more information confirming that it is a thing we should worry about.”  
  
Thor nodded, looking as if he held back a sigh.  
  
“I see. I suppose that you are all right. Forgive me, but…even knowing what my brother is, I cannot help but worry.”  
  
“It’s fine,” Rogers brushed it off softly.  
  
“We get it.” Stark came a step closer and reached up to pat Thor on the shoulder, grinning. “You don’t have to say you’re sorry.”  
  
He didn’t. Though Clint tried not to begrudge him his personal feelings too much; because even from an impersonal standpoint, it wasn’t the worst idea in the world to keep looking over their shoulders.  
  
The version of Loki that they knew, and an evidently similarly powered creature mixing it up in the flesh, with their planet stuck in the middle as their battleground…now that was a thing that could get admittedly pretty ugly.  
  
And before there was any chance to elaborate on that thought, there was a flurry of activity on the Helicarrier bridge as the power flickered.  
  
Clint stood as by his side Natasha’s hand went to one of her guns. They both gazed upward.  
  
Stark likewise stared bemused at the ceiling. He raised both hands. “Uh. What the hell was that?”  
  
Fury swept over the technicians who were furiously checking things on the screens in front of them. “Status?” he demanded, sharp.  
  
“Looks like a power fluctuation,” the closest young man answered him, breathless and not daring to look up from the screen he was tapping as he did so. “It’s nothing generated by equipment failure on our part. Seems to have come from an outside source.”  
  
Fury didn’t blink, staring him down even though he wasn’t turning. “ _How_  outside?”  
  
The tech shook his head hard. “It’s not reading like an attack. Just a…slight anomaly. It’s already mostly fading.”  
  
“Why does that not encourage me?” Fury growled, rhetorically. Behind him the team was already standing on their guard. “Someone had better be able to tell me what happened, people! I don’t care if it means you’ve gotta get out a flashlight and start crawling around in some wiring old-school to do it. Anomalies don’t get to just occur around here; not under my command. Check off every part of the system, grid by grid! I want-”  
  
The door behind them opened, audibly, and Fury cut himself off as he swung around. The others looked back too.  
  
Agent Hill strode back in, purposefully. But something was off with her expression. Though she was far from an easily shaken woman, her eyes were opened a little extra wide.  
  
“What are you doing back here?” Fury demanded of her. She hadn’t nearly enough time to get over to Surveillance and come back; anyone familiar with the layout of the place knew that.  
  
“Sir.” And now it sounded like she was clearing her throat awkwardly. “Forgive me for the interruption, but…” She paused, unsure how to say it. “There are some people in the other room that want to speak with the Avengers.”  
  
Clint frowned, looking over to Natasha. She looked back, and then both of them exchanged questioning, wary glances with the others.  
  
Fury was starting to look more concerned now. “What do you mean?  _What_  people?”  
  
Hill drew up to her full height, exhaling like she couldn’t believe this was even happening to her.  
  
“…The Avengers,” she said.  
  
*  
  
The grand golden palace of Asgard boasted many magnificent rooms, a seemingly endless series of long hallways and interlocking chambers. It could be a pleasure to go on a meandering stroll through these places; to get nearly lost at one’s leisure.  
  
But there were other parts of the palace that were not so pleasant. And equally easy to lose the way inside, if one wasn’t familiar, or careful.  
  
The unfurnished halls down near the dungeons, or leading outdoors to the barracks. The maze of empty stone catacombs set far beneath the other floors and used almost exclusively by servants, forgotten relics of a time long before. Hallways that were cold, and dark, and always smelled faintly of damp.   
  
These isolated and quiet spaces, however, made a good place for an unhappy young prince to hide.  
  
Despite the soreness of tired limbs and how he struggled to breathe past the tightness in his throat, Loki had run as fast as his little legs could carry him. Seeking a sanctuary, a far-off corner where he could become lost in the shadows.  
  
Finding it, he crouched down, collapsing in on himself as he dropped to his knees, palms scraping the ground and shoulders buckling. The wooden practice sword, blade half-splintered, that he had carried all the way with him unthinking was flung away from his grasp as a hateful thing.   
  
His small body shaking, he unfettered his sobs and began crying in earnest, tears rolling down his cheeks.  
  
“It isn’t  _fair_ ,” he managed at length in a creaky, broken whisper, his wails at last dissolving into intelligible speech.  
  
He didn’t understand. He tried so hard, he really did. Attended to all his lessons, listened to his instructors, and fought again and again with every muscle in his body to make himself improve. Why did it never seem to make a difference?   
  
Any other subject he focused on with his sharp mind and the full span of his attentions, and he always got it. Made leaps and bounds driven by determination. He could learn most anything in no time at all.  
Why wasn’t the same true when he tried to apply himself to fighting?  
  
Nearly every day the same thing happened, and it was torture. He got in the ring, feeling already sick to his stomach with dread, praying that somehow this time would be different. But it never, ever was.  
  
Despite that they were all the same age and he had been practicing just as long and as hard as them, everyone else seemed so much stronger. He was clumsy in the ring, the way he never was anywhere else, unsure of his footing, unable to lift his shield or sword high enough or in just the right way.   
  
Again and again he was knocked over, into the dirt, pale skin bruised and bleeding. The instructors looked down at him in dismay and disgust, and everyone else  _laughed._  
  
Loki thought that maybe he could learn to bear it if everyone would realize he didn’t want to be terrible at things. If they would only acknowledge that he was trying, truly he was.  
  
But no one did. They scolded him and pushed him harder, after he had already given everything he had. The other children sneered at him and made fun of him. They asked him what was _wrong_  with him.  
  
And Loki, when he hid himself away so as to finally give in to his frustrated tears, asked the same thing of himself.  
  
Why did it have to be this way? Why couldn’t he be like everyone else? Why wasn’t it easy for him? Why did nobody  _understand?_  
  
But the worst part, the worst part of all, was his brother, Thor. Thor, who had been side by side with him for as far back as Loki could remember. Thor, who he did everything together with. Thor, who was supposed to be his greatest friend. Thor, who was supposed to be  _there_  for him, no matter what.  
  
Now Thor was pulling away.  
  
He wasn’t as mean as the others. But still, he teased him. Made light of all Loki’s shortcomings, and never seemed to see how broken and miserable his brother was feeling when he looked into his eyes. He offered the same empty advice to Loki as all the rest –  _‘Try harder!’_  – and never seemed to see he  _was_  trying,  _really_  he was.  
  
And on the especially bad days…Loki could see he was ashamed of him. That it made Thor short-tempered, even unhappy, to have his embarrassing younger brother trailing after him.  
  
Thor was making new friends, friends who wanted little to do with Loki, save as occasional target for cruel and dismissive words. Little by little, Thor was pulling away.  
  
And where did that leave Loki? All alone, in the cool dark, with a tearstained face, and nothing but a broken practice sword, skinned knees and scraped knuckles to show for it.  
  
His sobs vented themselves out and dwindled. Slowly he let his tears finish falling, and then dried his eyes and caught his breath. By himself, surrounded by strange echoes and looming shadows, the young prince thought not just about how unhappy he was – but how angry it made him.  
  
That they would treat him this way, that they would punish him for things that weren’t his fault, that they would cast him aside and make him feel as if he were worthless…how  _dare_  they.  
  
He was far, far cleverer than they. He knew that with fierce certainty within his young mind and his young heart. He knew things. And he would find a way to fight; he would find a way to show them, even if it wasn’t with a sword. There must be something else he could do. He only had to figure it out.  
  
And then he would prove himself. And then he would never have to feel this way again.  
  
He would never be alone. He would make everyone, especially Thor, so very sorry.  
  
Slowly, carefully Loki picked himself up and got to his feet. He shut his eyes and scrubbed at his face with the back of his hand, drawing a deep inhale.  
  
He was still nothing but a boy, nothing but a child. But though he couldn’t know it for himself, a turning point had been reached.  
  
This day, this moment, where he knelt isolated in the dark and forged a new goal for himself within his thoughts and emotions – it would be a moment that older, more experienced versions of himself would know to point to as one of greatest significance for the everything that came after.  
  
He would remember this feeling for the rest of his life, the bitter aching throb of being humiliated and cast aside. It would still be clear inside him after many other things faded.   
  
And at times when he had to make a decision, it would come back to him, driving him onward when he might’ve made other choices.  
  
But that was the future, and it was far away, and still forming.  
  
This was the present. Loki was a child with a lot of untapped potential, trying to understand a situation that’d been forced on him past his understanding. Trying to make the best of things. But he was still only a child.  
  
Having gathered his strength, out loud Loki muttered, “I’ll show them. I’ll show Thor. I’ll show them all.”  
  
He had thought – no, he had been  _sure_  – he was entirely alone down here.  
  
But out of the darkness a low and ominous voice said, smoothly, “I am sorry to disappoint you, young one.”  
  
Heart beating with sudden fright, Loki turned around. There at the edge of the shadows stood a figure mostly concealed by the dark.  
  
As he stood there paralyzed, staring with wide eyes, the figure took a step closer, the shadows rolling off them.  
  
Enough to reveal part of a face, with black and empty, burning eyes; wild black hair, and pale skin split by thick markings. A woman, he thought, though her voice carried a threat in every vibration.  
  
She finished what she was saying, and as she spoke she revealed a mouth full of sharp teeth, like a monster.  
  
“…But I’m afraid I have to tell you, that you just aren’t going to get that chance.”  
  
Quick as a serpent lashing out, her arm reached forward to seize him. The last thing Loki saw were her clawed fingers coming to grab him, and past that the awful fangs that were set in a wide and mirthless grin.  
  
*

“You’re coming armed to this?” Steve had to remark, bemused, as he watched both Barton and Romanov checking over their weapons.  
  
“Better safe than sorry,” was Barton’s abrupt response. He slid another extra arrow shaft into his quiver, eliciting a sharp, brief mechanical sound as he made the practiced movement over his shoulder.  
  
The other agent glanced up from where she’d been bending forward to pull an extra ammo clip from her boot, meeting Steve’s eyes. Her response was more serious; “We don’t know what we’re walking into. This could be a trick of Loki’s.”  
  
“I doubt that.” Stark gave a grunt of dismissal, shrugging. “He wasn’t even there for what all happened. After Selene broke out of her cage, he beat pavement.”  
  
“He did what?” Thor looked to him, puzzled.   
  
Stark sighed, opened his mouth briefly, and then seemingly just decided to ignore him.  
  
“Still.” Romanov straightened, giving her belt and gauntlets one final adjustment. “Until we’ve a better idea what’s going on, like Clint said - better safe than sorry.”  
  
“Words to live by,” Steve was forced to agree.   
  
Turning towards the hallway he gave one last look across the others.   
  
“Everybody ready?”  
  
“As we’ll ever be.” Dr. Banner waved a hand in a gesture to indicate they should start walking. “Let’s go. This should be  _very_  interesting.”  
  
The six of them started moving, together. Steve stole a glance to his right and left; they weren’t exactly in a formation, but whether or not it was intentional the group had spread out so they were more or less in a staggered line, flanking him, since of course he had ended up taking point.   
  
It was an odd visual, no doubt. The two agents suited up and Thor in his ever-present armor, but the doctor in a wrinkled button-down shirt and khakis, Stark in jeans and a t-shirt, and Steve with his cowl down, without his shield.  
  
It was just the team, and only them. Apparently whoever Hill had spoken to had made it clear they only wanted this conference to be between one version of the team and the other.  
  
Surprisingly, though he obviously wasn’t happy about it, Fury had decided to go along. It wasn’t quite clear whether it was the Avengers themselves as a concept or the inter-dimensional aspect that had him intimidated to a state of wariness. Either way; evidently he didn’t want to push his luck by making another version of the group of super-beings he well knew the capabilities of angry.  
  
As they walked steadily, closing the gap to one of the strangest encounters they might ever have, Steve realized he was feeling wary himself.  
  
Not because he thought this might be a trap or the other Avengers might turn out to be enemies. Whether or not it was optimistic of him, he felt already inclined to view them as allies.  
  
But he was on-edge anyway, because in this situation there simply didn’t seem any other way to be. They were going face-to-face with alternate versions of  _themselves_ , of people they already knew. Yet another impossible thing he would barely even be able to dream of, and here it was happening.  
  
It didn’t seem simple to go into this with a cool head. He didn’t know what to expect.  
  
There was a length of corridor up ahead that was normally familiar. He must’ve walked it a hundred times, whenever he was on the Helicarrier. The stretch of wall to his right was the same. But there was a door in it, just a single unobtrusive door, where it shouldn’t have been. Where there had never been a door before.  
  
“This must be it.” Stark took in the fact they were all lingering there, uncertain, with aplomb. “Ladies first,” he offered grandly.  
  
Romanov looked to him, and gave the cool raise of an eyebrow.  
  
“Or not.” He coughed. “Of course, I  _meant_  Captain Rogers…”  
  
“Knock it off,” Steve told him, irate but subdued. They were all anxious, their nerves on high alert; they knew each other well enough he could see it at a glance.  
  
“Maybe we should take a moment to prepare ourselves for the likely possibility we’re about to be dealing with two Tonys at once,” Banner pointed out mildly.  
  
Tony brightened as at the same time Romanov’s eyes became shuttered, Thor grimaced and Barton audibly groaned. “Hey now, that’s right. There’s a thought.”  
  
“Well we won’t find out standing out here.” Steve did his best to sound decisive. “Come on.”  
  
The doorknob turned easily under his hand. One step, and just like that, they were in.  
  
He honestly wished he could’ve had his wits about him to try and make a better first impression. But the truth of it was, the first thing Steve did was only stand there, blinking stupidly.  
  
Finding themselves suddenly in what appeared to be an exact duplicate of the carrier’s command center wasn’t something he had anticipated. He couldn’t be sure, but he was pretty sure the same went for the others as well.  
  
“Well, this is a little underwhelming.” Tony strolled past one of the computer terminals, and then stopped in his tracks, doing a double-take. “I take that right back,” he said excitedly, pointing. “Bruce, come look at this. Is that…?”  
  
What came next was a long stream of pure technobabble that Steve didn’t even try to translate. The overview he was getting seemed to be that the technology in this room was far advanced compared to where they were at with the present day. But he honestly couldn’t tell – too much was still alien-looking to him, especially when it came to SHIELD technology.  
  
“A glad welcome to you, Avengers of the neighboring realm!”  
  
At the disconcertingly familiar voice, Steve turned and beheld a second version of Thor standing there, waving one arm with a smile on his face. He looked exactly like the one they already knew except his hair was shorter, coming only just about to his shoulders, and his armor was much grander and more ornate.  
  
“Oh. Hey there.” Stark looked up from whatever he and Bruce had been bending over to give the second Asgardian a look of his own. “Well. This  _is_  gonna be interesting.”  
  
Thor himself – the one from their reality – was gazing at his counterpart, speechless. Following his gaze Steve was struck that he seemed to be mainly focused on the golden inlays of the other Thor’s armor. He appeared almost awed.  
  
Maybe, Steve considered, there was some significance to that. Perhaps there was a denotation of rank in the design, the way the military used bars on their uniforms.  
  
Romanov meanwhile was taking a few steps forward, her attitude as cool and composed as if something like this happened every day. “I take it you’re the ones who called us here.”  
  
“Yeah. Isn’t it spectacular?” This time it was a second version of Tony Stark who spoke. He was wearing a turtleneck and slacks, hands tucked in his pockets casually as he came forward to meet them. His remark seemed to be directed at his own double, who he smiled at and gestured to. “Go on. Take a look around. Drink it all in.”  
  
“Oh, I’m drinking, believe me.” The Stark of their world responded to the other in a way that was positively animated. “Was it my – I mean, your tech that you used to pull this off? Or was it SHIELD’s?”  
  
“Little of column A, little of column B.” The other Stark laid a finger to the side of his nose and winked. “Never could’ve done it without me, of course, but I had to borrow a few of their resources.”  
  
Bruce smiled, only mildly bemused. “I see.”  
  
“The command deck of the Helicarrier was the easiest space to rig for cross-dimensional transport. Plus, we figured it’d be a good idea to set this conference in a place that’d be more familiar to you.” Other Stark glanced over his shoulder, addressing a blonde woman leaning over a set of controls. “How’s she doing there, Danvers?”  
  
“Readings coming back all consistent and stable. I’d say she’s holding steady, cap’n.”  
  
With a bright look in her eyes and cheery smirk, the woman pivoted around gracefully and walked over to meet them. She wore a black cat-suit of a combat uniform, with bare arms, black gloves, and a bright red sash around her waist. Her curtain of straight blonde hair fell around a face half-hidden behind a black mask. She had a tall proud bearing, a posture that transmitted confidence loud and clear.  
  
Positioning herself near Steve, she met his eyes and offered a professional salute.  
  
“Carol Danvers. Air Force,” she introduced herself smartly. “The civilians know me mainly as Ms. Marvel.”  
  
Steve returned the salute, finding her immediately likable. “Pleasure to meet you, Captain Danvers,” he said, guessing at her rank. He wasn’t corrected, so he must’ve gotten it in one.   
  
Out of the corner of his eye he saw white and blue – he prepared himself as he turned around, asking, “So, your version of the team is a little different than from our own.”  
  
Sure enough, he was face to face with…himself. Even concealed underneath a slightly different Captain America uniform (less emphasis on the stars and stripes, a little more dark in color) was the serum-augmented face and body he had gotten used to seeing in the mirror.  
  
The other Steve Rogers stood with his arms crossed, his expression slightly sympathetic; as if knew they both were probably feeling a little uneasy right about now.  
  
“I think it’s more likely that we started with the same team, and there have been changes over time,” he offered as explanation.  
  
Stark took a step closer to the other Stark, pointing at him. “I knew it. I thought you looked older.”  
  
“Yeah.” Other Stark nodded. “By our best guess, you guys are probably, what…2012, 2013? Not long after the original team came together? We’re from a good…two decades into the future.”  
  
“Two  _decades_ ,” Stark repeated. He squinted as he leaned in closer to the older version, eyeing him more like a statue or a specimen than another person. “My god. I’ve aged well.”  
  
Carol Danvers stood with her arms behind her back, one wrist clasped in the other hand, right next to where the other Steve still stood with his arms folded. At the repartee between the two Starks, they exchanged a dry,  _‘doesn’t it just figure’_  kind of look.  
  
“I know, right?” The other Stark grinned, completely unbothered. “Well. Extremis helps with that.”  
  
“Extremis?” Tony blinked. “What’s Extremis?”  
  
The other Stark paused for a second, startled. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then gave his counterpart a scrutinizing, conspiratorial look.  
  
“You and I, we should…talk later, if we get a chance.”  
  
“Friend Anthony,” other Thor objected loudly, sounding disappointed but not very surprised. “What did we discuss beforehand about meddling in the development of another world’s science or future?”  
  
“Come on; he’d probably get there eventually! I’m just giving a little boost…” He trailed off at the look other Steve was giving him. “No? Fine, then. You’re no fun.”  
  
“Wow.” Stark looked to his own version of Steve, sardonically. “The more things change…”  
  
Steve didn’t feel that warranted a response. He scowled back at him.  
  
“Hang on here,” Barton demanded, frowning, as he dialed the conversation back. “So not just parallel dimensions, but time travel?”  
  
“Is that really so outlandish?” Banner remarked. “All the properties and components that would have to line up in order to produce such a similar reality, the odds aren’t that good they’d also occupy a similar space in the fourth dimension.”   
  
He shrugged, holding out one hand.  
  
“Basic particle theory allows for the existence of other realities. It’s a simple as extrapolating from the string theorem – everything is connected. And atoms can, multiplied out into infinity, create only so many patterns in space. So if you take that and posit that every time in life someone makes a decision and undergoes an event, for every choice they make, no matter how inconsequential, there is created another practically identical reality where the alternative action was taken. Each reality continues on down its own path, and over time more and more splinter off in a similar manner…if you take that all in as possibility, then you have academically-based support for the multiverse.”  
  
“Y’know, you are so dreamy when you do that,” Tony quipped.  
  
“Careful, though.” Another woman’s voice spoke up. “Let him keep going, and he’s going to spring a full-fledged lecture on you, I’ll bet.”  
  
Dr. Banner turned, and immediately fell silent, the color drained from his face.  
  
Steve couldn’t blame him. The woman that was addressing him, though she had a calm enough look on her face, was well over six feet tall. Her body was a solid mass of toned muscle, and every inch of her was the same distinct green coloring of the Hulk.  
  
He honestly had no idea how he’d missed seeing her before now. He must’ve just been too distracted by his own double and the ones for Thor and Stark. Though Barton and Romanov were the only ones who  _didn’t_  look shocked – either it was better concealed, or they’d noticed the green woman before and hadn’t bothered to say anything.  
  
Steve found himself thinking they really  _should_  have said something.  
  
“Um,” was all that Banner could apparently manage to say, staring up and up at the statuesque figure.  
Tony was agog. But he also looked positively thrilled. “It’s a lady Bruce! A femme-Banner. A…Other  _Gal._  A Her-”  
  
“She-Hulk,” she interrupted him, politely. Standing there with her hands on her hips she looked intimidating enough, but then she stretched out a hand and offered it to Stark for a shake. Her fingers and palm practically dwarfed his  _head._  “Also known as Jennifer Walters.”  
  
“Not Banner?” Stark queried, as he gamely took that offered handshake after only a moment’s hesitance. She did her obvious best to be gentle with him, and not squash his bones flat.  
  
“Nope. I’m Bruce’s younger cousin.” She tossed her head absently, stirring a wave of thick green hair. “A few years’ back I was in an accident, and I needed a blood transfusion. There was only one available choice.”  
  
“I see that worked out well,” Stark observed. Banner, at last, managed a smile, though it was nervous and strange.  
  
“I do have a cousin named Jennifer,” he offered. “But she’s never been in any accident, as far as I know.”  
  
“You can still…you know:  _talk_ ,” Barton put it, carefully. “And you’re aware of what’s going on around you.”  
  
“Without any aggression or personality differences,” Romanov added, looking at her with shrewd interest.  
  
“Yeah. No one can really explain it. The best theory is by the time it got to me, the original process had become more diluted.” She shrugged, and then grinned. “But, hey, the good news is, it worked out pretty good for me. My biggest problem is not shulking-out in a courtroom.” Off their puzzled glances she added, “I’m a lawyer. Top of my class at UCLA!”  
  
“Best lawyer ever,” Stark abruptly declared.  
  
“Well this is all…fascinating.” Steve cleared his throat. “And I really do mean that. But I think it’s time we moved past this and onto the more glaring part. What are the five of you doing here?”  
  
“Yeah,” Tony interjected, “and how come it’s only you guys?” Steve shot an exasperated look this way, because more questions were  _not_  helping. “Why not the whole team? Or is this…what there is of the team, now?”  
  
“No,” the other Steve reassured him, quickly. “There have been a few changes to group over the years, sure. But most of the originals have stayed.”  
  
“And while new players have come and gone, me and Carol are the only ones you wouldn’t be familiar with that are around right now,” Miss Walters added.  
  
“And Wanda,” Captain Danvers reminded her. “Oh, I wish you guys could get to meet Wanda. She is  _amazing._  She’d blow your mind.”  
  
“Wanda?” Steve asked, despite himself.  
  
“Scarlet Witch,” the other Stark explained. “She’s a mutant with the power to play with the laws of probability.”  
  
“I don’t get it,” Barton said. “How is that impressive?”  
  
“She’s also been ranked as having an Omega-class power level.”  
  
That didn’t mean much of anything to Steve, but Stark and Banner openly gaped.  
  
“Wait…wouldn’t that mean-?”  
  
“Yeah,” the other Stark finished before his counterpart had to, deadpan. “It means exactly what you think it does.” Before anyone could ask any more questions, though, he hurried on: “The point is…we weren’t sure whether bringing Wanda along might cause a slight…instability, in the fabric between our neighboring dimensions.” He weaved his fingers together, as if to illustrate. “Same reason we brought the new girls along and kept the familiar faces to a minimum. Less covalent subatomic flux.”  
  
“Also we figured it’d be less disorienting,” the other Steve added.  
  
“Good call,” Barton had to admit. He looked back and forth between where the two Thors were locked in a staring contest, the one from their own dimension overwhelmed while the other one seemed more just perplexed. “Because I gotta say, this is all weird enough as it is.”  
  
Banner was still giving his ‘cousin’ a side-eye. “Yeah. No kidding.”  
  
“You wear the armor of a ruler.”  
  
They all jumped a bit without realizing when their Thor suddenly spoke. It hit Steve that he hadn’t said a word since their arrival – a fact which made everything seem awkward and overly silent. Thor wasn’t as bad as Stark, but he was hardly the type to hang back and say nothing either.  
  
His voice though seemed quieter than usual. There was still that touch of awe in his face, bordered by disbelief. He gazed upon his older double with wide blue eyes as he continued.  
  
“It is raiment that could be worthy only of a king of Asgard.” He met the other Thor’s eyes, softly questioning, a mixture of hopeful and troubled. “Does…this mean-?”  
  
“Aye,” the other confirmed with a solemn smile. “Though he does yet still live, some years before Father stepped down, and I rose to inherit the throne from him.” He raised his gaze a bit towards the heavens, and stated in a voice that could only be called regal, “I now stand, sole ruler of the Realm Eternal.”  
  
Thor was struck. Barton gave a low whistle. Stark reached forward to pat the Asgardian on the shoulder.  
  
“Wow,” he commented. “Promotion. Congratulations.”  
  
“I am only glad to hear that it did not come on the wake of my father’s passing,” Thor said, humbly.  
  
The other Thor said nothing but gave an understanding smile. Though he looked no older physically, it did explain how he seemed to carry himself with a more serious air. Why he seemed so…well,  _kingly._  
  
“Understandably, perhaps, I spend less time on Earth with the others now than I would like.” The other Thor looked to the Avengers that had come with him, a gaze both fierce and fond. “But they know, should any true evil ever threaten their world with harm, I  _will_  be there to lend aid in stopping it.”  
  
“Yeah.” The other Tony toyed with his silver-streaked hair indifferently. “That’s pretty much the way it stands with all of us. I mean, we’re hardly the only hero game in the business, these days. Our signal goes out strictly for end-of-the-world stuff.”  
  
He pointed to Bruce. “With the exception of our friend here, I’m afraid. Our version of Big Green went on sabbatical awhile back. Decided to go walk the wilderness and re-isolate himself. Part of the reason why we tapped Jenny here to replace him.”  
  
“I see,” Dr. Banner said quietly. The face of the Tony standing right next to him was temporarily unreadable.  
  
“But what we saw when we gazed into your realm across the veil,” Thor questioned, in a tone that made Steve wonder if he was trying to be distracting as much as he was actually interested. “It can be hard to tell, with your kind, but as Stark pointed out, none of you seem to have gotten much older. For myself, I understand; it takes many years to age an Asgardian, but…”  
  
“Well Stark already explained that, for himself,” Steve reminded them, more than glad to keep the conversation moving. “And for me I can only assume it has to do with the super-soldier formula.”  
  
It was something he wasn’t really surprised by, though he tried not to think about it, because it made him sick to think he might never grow old. But he’d already gathered or guessed that the rate his body changed been severely slowed down. So in twenty years, he supposed, it might make sense that he’d look barely any different.  
  
“The Red Room did more than augment me mentally,” Romanov put in, coolly. “They altered my cells. I probably age more slowly, now, also.”  
  
Wordlessly the five of them turned to look at Barton. But he shook his head, evidently as much at a loss for an explanation as they were.  
  
“Well.” The other Steve coughed, then spoke in a voice Steve himself recognized: it was what he sounded like when he really didn’t want to talk about something. “Clint was actually dead for a couple of years. So he didn’t age for those.”  
  
“Oh.” Barton sounded completely unbothered by the implications of that statement. “Yeah. I guess that explains it.”  
  
Banner and Thor both stared at him, and Stark raised a finger as well as an eyebrow. “Now, wait just a second…”  
  
“No.” Steve spoke up firmly at first, though he had to swallow around the dryness in his throat. “I understand we’re all curious, and reasonably so. But if we stand around comparing notes we’ll be here forever.”  
  
“The Captain’s right,” Agent Romanov backed him. “We’ve already spent a lot of time talking. I’m guessing your group went to a lot of trouble to come here because you had to tell us something important.”  
  
Tony made a sound, underwhelmed by her words. “You can say that again.” He raised an arm, indicating the equipment around them. “Jury-rigging a space, even a small isolated one, for hip-hopping between dimensions? I don’t get many chances to say this, but considering the source I have no qualms about it – I am spectacularly impressed.”  
  
He looked to his other-worldly counterpart, who gave a far from humble half-bow.  
  
“Thank you, thank you. You’re too kind. Well…no, go on.”  
  
“Ah, geeze.” Steve placed his fingertips on the bridge of his nose, pinching his eyes shut.  
  
“The part that I  _don’t_  get though is how you managed to do all of it so fast,” Stark continued, earnestly, thinking aloud. “I mean the basic set-up is one thing. But the coordinates? How’d you fine-tune it? Not to mention, the power-source…by conventional thermodynamics, it’d have to be astronomical. How’d you find a way around that?”  
  
Steve was bracing for a barrage of yet more scientific words and phrases he didn’t understand. So it was to his complete surprise when the other Stark fell silent. He looked back up.  
  
The other Stark didn’t appear so cocky anymore. He had a subdued, sheepish look on his face.  
  
The rest of his Avengers had grown quiet as well. They exchanged quick glances with another, conferring wordlessly over some unknown subject. The other Thor in particular looked anxious – and the other version of Steve held his ground like he was bracing for something.  
  
“Actually.” Other Stark sighed, guiltily. “For that part, I needed some help.”  
  
“From whom?” Steve asked, nerves on edge. Everyone was acting like they were about to say something they knew the others wouldn’t like to hear.  
  
There was an odd sound, a muffled crack like a firecracker going off from far away. And then the air shifted; for a fraction of a second everyone felt suddenly colder.  
  
The other Thor took a reluctant, sliding step, moving a little to one side. And there in the space behind him – where Steve at once realized his eyes had kept drifting away from, unconsciously, the whole time without him noticing – there was a patch of shadow in what should have been an area well-lit by the surrounding lights.  
  
The shadows moved and wavered, disappearing gradually before them, like layers of a curtain being peeled away.  
  
And once the shadows were gone a figure was revealed. A tall figure dressed in green and gold.  
Steve felt an instinctive, revolted sense of recognition, like a surprise punch low in the gut.  
  
Loki lifted his eyes and gazed back at all of them, evenly.  
  
The team reacted in an instant, faster than any of them could even form a train of thought.  
  
“Oh, you have gotta be kidding me.” Stark’s voice was low, a scoffing and displeased sound. Steve swiftly and warily planted his feet; from the corner of his eye he spotted Romanov raising her arms in a defensive stance, expression guarded and ready.  
  
Thor was visibly astonished but he had set his mouth grimly, and his hammer jumped to his hand. The look he gave Loki was fraught with complexity and pain. But it was a far from loving one.  
  
Dr. Banner moved back, like he was trying to get out of the way of potential danger. But he leaned like on the verge of going into a crouch, and for a moment his eyes flashed quickly green.  
  
“You son of a bitch,” Barton swore. He already had his bow up and was drawing back an arrow.  
  
But in response to  _their_  reactions, the other version of the Avengers reacted fast as well.  
  
With alarmed looks, both of the younger women on the team took up battle-ready positions. Walters put herself in a spot where she was ready to tackle either Thor or Bruce. Danvers rushed out to the apex between the two groups and held out her arm, palm flat and aimed like it was a weapon. Steve noticed a bright golden glow starting to emerge from her fingertips.  
  
Meanwhile, the three doppelganger Avengers were speaking all at once.  
  
“No, no,” the other Thor shouted, moving back again so his brother’s body was partially shielded by his own. “You do not understand!”  
  
The other Steve had also moved in, planting himself between Loki and his counterpart with one hand lifted in a pacifying gesture. “Now hang on!”  
  
“ _Whoa._  Whoa!” It was the other Stark who dove in the middle between everyone, yelling, an arm stretched out to either side like he was trying to force them all back. “Stop! Everyone just  _cool it_ for a minute, all right?”  
  
Head turning sharply he looked back and forth at both parties, willing them to stand down.  
  
For about twenty seconds it was nothing but tense silence, darting eyes, the sounds of people breathing hard.  
  
It was Loki, at last, who spoke without preamble, his voice soft but otherwise toneless. “You don’t imagine I intend to do anything to hurt you, do I – not with all of them standing as they are in my way?”  
  
A few of them twitched – but it was a good point. Steve lowered his fists; he sensed more than saw the others on his team doing the same. The only one who didn’t move was Barton.  
  
Danvers had her focus on him. “Don’t make me hurt you, Clint,” she told him, warningly. That glow was still coming from her outstretched palm. “What’s it gonna be?”  
  
The archer didn’t give any sign he even heard her. His gaze was entirely on Loki, across the room, and he never blinked.  
  
But in the next second a breath went out of him, and he lowered his weapon back down with a disgruntled look on his face.  
  
Steve waited before he felt better assured everyone was relatively calm before turning to meet the eyes of his other version. He figured if there was  _anyone_  he could hold accountable for this, it was himself.  
  
He demanded, brusquely, “What’s the meaning of this?”  
  
The other Steve squared his shoulders. His body moved like he was giving out a sigh. But he didn’t say anything; it was the other Stark who answered.  
  
“He’s here because we needed his help,” the man explained, in an adamant, overly-reasonable type of voice. “You asked how we could put this whole thing together so fast, and there’s your answer. Maybe I could’ve worked it out with the tech alone but we didn’t have the time.” He flicked his fingers. “It took a combo platter of magic  _and_  science to pull this whole act off.”  
  
“So you made a deal with the devil?” Banner quipped.  
  
The other Stark blinked. And then he turned aside to give Loki a bemused expression.   
  
“Wow. Guess your PR  _here_  is in even worse shape.” He hesitated. “Or…better, depending on what you’re going for.”  
  
The would-be god’s gaze moved sideways and downwards, throat working as he pensively avoided meeting anyone’s eyes.  
  
“Believe me, this is  _not_  what I am ‘going for’. And it hasn’t been for a long time.”  
  
A beat of silence followed as Steve and his allies stared incredulously.  
  
“Wait. What?” Stark said slowly. “Are you telling me…?”  
  
“Yeah.” The other version pointed a thumb at the man in question over his shoulder. “Loki’s not on the public enemy list anymore. He got his bad-guy card revoked, sheesh, a  _while_  back.”  
  
“Relatively long,” Loki remarked flatly, looking up again.  
  
“That’s not exactly helping your case,” the other Stark stage-muttered.  
  
“We’ve never even fought him.” Danvers indicated herself and Miss Walters, who nodded to back her up. “Only heard about him by reputation. But he was ancient history from the Avengers’ rogues gallery by the time I showed up. Hell, he’s even pinch-hit with us a couple of times! When Wanda’s not enough to magic missile something into oblivion.”  
  
“Or that Dr. Strange guy can’t be reached on speed-dial,” Walters chimed in.  
  
“The point is, I don’t know what the state of things is in your world,” the other Steve spoke up, resolute and serious, “but you have nothing to fear from him. Loki –  _this_  Loki, our Loki, stopped attacking people on Earth a long time ago.”  
  
Steve held his double’s gaze for a minute or two, not certain what to feel about that. His other self returned the look without falter. After a bit he gave slight movement, a nod of his head –  _‘Trust me’._  
  
Sure. Easily enough said. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t believe what his other self and the rest of them were saying. But it was…grating, in a way, to see it acted out. To watch Loki and him, and Thor, and Tony, all standing around together like nothing had ever been wrong.  
  
After everything Loki had done to the city, to people Steve knew and cared about, to  _humanity_  in general. Somehow it felt on a base level like an insult, a dishonor to the memory of those things, to have Loki so simply vindicated, his crimes of what was still very recent past set aside.  
  
Everyone, Steve supposed, deserved a second chance. But looking at it without the benefit of those intervening years between them, it didn’t seem real. Or right.  
  
“Well. You know what, that’s just great.” Tony made a point of taking a few steps backward, turning around only to have to twist at the waist to look back at them again. “Terrific. Glad to hear that everything works out for you!”  
  
The other version of Stark stared at him, offended and somewhat puzzled. Like he couldn’t think of why his counterpart in particular was taking this so hard.  
  
“All right then,” the other Steve said, with a kind of resignation. Then a particularly jarring sight, at least for Steve personally, happened when his double addressed Loki briefly, resting a friendly hand on his shoulder.   
  
“You gonna be okay?” he asked, voice quiet.  
  
Loki brushed him off, but in non-combative fashion, and spoke in a manner indicating equal amiability. “That is not important. We can’t stay here much longer,” he addressed the group at large, more firmly. “I kept quiet while you had your other matters to settle, but enough is enough. Please. We must reach the reason we had to come.”  
  
Romanov had put her guns away and had her arms crossed uniformly. She was keeping an eye on Loki, observing, reading him carefully.  
  
“That reason being why I assume you got involved,” she gathered. “The threat they wanted to warn us about.”  
  
Both teams of Avengers eyed her with varying degrees of surprise at her coming to that conclusion, but it was easy to see from the faces of the visitors that she was exactly right.  
  
The secret agent almost,  _almost_  smiled. But her eyes were devoid of any warmth.  
  
“Selene,” she finished, still looking at Loki. “This is about you.”  
  
“Well, yeah,” the other Stark admitted, finally, after a pause. “From a close-up perspective, yes, it is about him. But in a bigger picture sense? Not so much.”  
  
“I don’t believe this,” Barton said. Coming from almost anyone else he would’ve sounded calm – but for him his voice was low, dark, hard; practically a growl. The muscles around his jaw had tightened, subtly, in anger, and the grip on his bow was like a vice.  
  
“You’re telling me that this, all this, is about  _him?_ ” He jerked his chin in Loki’s direction, the motion so quick it was more like a spasm. Like he hated to even spare that much of an effort. “You guys put out the call and made us all come running, risking who knows what kind of interdimensional backlash, and for what? To tell us the  _earth-shattering_  news that somebody is pissed off at _this_  guy?”  
  
He pointed, the rest of his body language shifting. Steve swore it looked like he was on the verge of walking out of the room.  
  
“It was barely worth registering when we thought this woman was after our own, homegrown version of this psychopath. If you guys are on such great terms now, then that’s perfect:  _you_  look out for him, if he’s the one she’s really after.” He exhaled tightly, mouth dropping even further into a frown. “I don’t see how any of this is any of our problem.”  
  
Romanov had shifted her position, facing her partner while not turning away from her initial direction. She’d lowered her head, so that she watched Barton’s outburst from half-lidded, upturned eyes.  
  
But she didn’t say anything. No one else, certainly Steve least of all, seemed to know what to say either.  
  
After a beat, Loki tried, “I imagine you must certainly have your reasons for feeling as you do about me-”  
  
“Shut up,” Barton cut him off, sharp and disdainful. “I wasn’t talking to you.”  
  
“Hey,” the other Steve protested in an angry, instinctive sort of way. The whole thing was giving Steve a sick twinge of pain in his chest.  
  
But Barton continued like he hadn’t spoken. “You don’t ‘imagine’ anything,” he hurled at Loki. “You either  _know_  what you did, or you don’t. Either way there’s nothing you can do about it.”  
  
The other Thor came closer forward, his face darkening in a warning. “The man in the land at my back who shares your face and name is one I consider a lifelong friend and a worthy ally. But take care, Sir Barton. My brother is not here for you to insult so lightly.”  
  
“Trust me,” their own Thor broke in, his face in just as serious a scowl. “He does nothing lightly. And the words he speaks on this matter are more than fitting.”  
  
The Thor who was a king stared back at the younger one, taken aback, matching righteous anger with righteous indignation. For an incredibly tense moment it looked like the two would fly at each other, and the worst possible kind of a fight would break forward.  
  
But Loki took a step bringing him nearly next to the other Thor. He reached out to grasp him tightly by the wrist, holding him back.  
  
“No, brother,” he hissed intently, warning. “Don’t.”  
  
Still frowning, the other Thor glanced at him, but visibly began calming down right there as he listened.  
  
As to their own version of Thor he physically flinched, his expression stricken, staring at how the two brothers interacted with such a wide, haunted look in his eyes.  
  
Loki…no, Steve realized; the  _other_  Loki. For he was as distinctly different and separate a man from the one they knew as their own counterparts, if not even more so.   
  
Now that he was really looking at the Asgardian he could see how much had changed. If that Thor seemed somehow older, then that Loki almost seemed to be  _younger_  – there was a quiet earnestness about him that Steve had never known the Loki he’d fought to possess.  
  
He wore the same color scheme they were used to seeing, and an outfit just as oddly-designed and complicated, but it had no padding, no metal – just a few strips of leather. It couldn’t even properly be called ‘armor’. It hit Steve that it was probably what in their world served as his civvies, as everyday clothes. His hair was much shorter, neater; still long by modern Earth standards but kept combed smoothly back. His face was pale but a healthy pale – the Loki they knew better always looked malnourished or sickly.   
  
And that Loki constantly  _burned_  with a manic, dangerous energy. You could see his rage, his sadistic tendencies in every line of his expression, like he didn’t know how to hide what he was, or simply didn’t care. He was always sneering, or glaring, or grinning with an abnormal light dancing in his eyes.  
  
But this Loki was calm. Collected. He carried himself with the same kind of ingrained dignity that Thor did, and none of violent overconfidence Steve was so used to seeing.  
  
He stood there quiet with his mouth set in a line. Barring a little weariness his expression was composed; still and patient, even almost graceful for how perfect his composure. The only time he had frowned was when Barton had aimed recriminations at him. And then, it was with an air of resignation.  
  
Sure, Loki was first and foremost incapable of trustworthiness. He lived to deceive. But it didn’t seem possible even  _he_  was that good an actor.  
  
It came over Steve slowly, dawning on him bit by bit until it started to sink in and turned into a sweeping realization. Could this have been what the Loki from their dimension used to be like?  
  
Had they successfully turned back the clock now that he’d been rehabilitated? Or maybe he’d never gone so far bad at the start?  
  
As much as he had sympathized with his teammate before, Steve thought he finally understood. If this was what Thor was clinging to the ghost of every time he looked at his destructive, delusional, utterly  _ravaged_  brother…no wonder he found it so hard, letting go.  
  
“Let them talk.” The words fell from Steve’s mouth before he had time to think about it. “We might as well.”  
  
The other Stark nodded in swift, wordless thanks. “Look, you really don’t understand,” he told the others. “Sure, it’s true, it all has got to do with Loki. But it’s about so much more than that.”  
  
“Like what?” For quite some time now Bruce had been hanging back to the rear of the group, rubbing his hands together in an absent, nervous gesture. It was something of a relief to see he was still hanging on to the conversation.  
  
“The moment Thor told us he spotted a version of Selene in your universe, we knew you were in danger,” other Steve stated. “How much have you learned about her?”  
  
“Probably all the Cliff notes.” Stark shrugged. “She’s supposed to be incredibly powerful, and she’s definitely incredibly pissed off. At Loki.” He used his whole hand to indicate the Asgardian. “From what we’ve gathered she must originally from your world, where the two of you fought at some point before. Now she’s trying to find her way back home for revenge, and she’s using the corpses of every Loki she comes across in the process as her stepping stones.”  
  
“You know the breadth of the matter, but not the depth,” Loki had to say in reply. “She is far more dangerous than you seem to realize. I am her goal, and she will target my counterpart in your realm to get to me, yes. But she will not stop there.”  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Barton demanded.  
  
The other Thor came forward once more, drawing himself up as so as to demand attention. It was something their own Thor seemed to do at times unconsciously. With this one it was much more practiced and purposeful.  
  
“Selene is no mere sorceress. She is not to be underestimated.” The thunder god stressed every word, face beneath his thick beard taut with anxiety and somberness and anger. “She is thousands of years old; older than my brother is, older than myself. She fought against our father in his youth.”  
  
“Your father,” Banner repeated. “As in, Odin who is so old, the ancient Vikings said he must have created all things?”  
  
The gravity of what the others were trying to tell them was definitely weighing on them all now.  
  
“She’s empowered by darkest magic.” Loki’s voice was softly intense, making his words seem less like hyperbole and more a deadly warning. “She is a creature that feeds on the essence of others. You will know her as a psychic vampire. Do  _not_  let her near you. Don’t let her touch you, if it can be helped. She’ll destroy you, and in the process make herself stronger.”  
  
Tony’s voice was hoarsely strained. “What in the hell did you do to send her after you in the first place?”  
  
Loki’s mouth twitched in a note of irony. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. We fought. I tried to kill her. But I could not. I failed; instead I was forced to send her away, imprison her out of time and out of mind.”  
  
“Did you think you’d never have to face her again?” Romanov asked. It was impossible to tell if she was suspicious or merely curious.  
  
“I imagined she would most likely escape, eventually. Though I expected it would take much longer.”  
  
Steve looked away from him and back to the others. Banner and Stark were lost in thought. Thor was watching the double of his brother carefully, his expression closely guarded. Romanov hadn’t moved. Barton had retreated away from everyone and to a corner, watching them all through narrowed eyes.  
  
“All right,” Steve said, at last. “It’s much worse than we thought. There’s more to it, and we have to be careful. But why come all the way to give us the warning?”  
  
“They call Selene the ‘Kinslayer’ back on Asgard,” the other version of Stark broke in. “Care to guess why?”  
  
There was a knot in Steve’s throat, again. “I think I have a feeling.”  
  
“When the All-Father and one of his mortal allies fought Selene,” other Thor’s voice was almost musical in his empathetic grief, “between them they lost a love, a sibling, and two friends. Like a true monster, it isn’t enough to slaughter her victims – she must attack them at the heart as well.”  
  
“Our version of Loki doesn’t give a damn about anyone other than himself,” Stark said bluntly.  
  
It took the Loki that was present a moment to respond to that. When he did, it looked as if his smile was forced.  
  
“Ah, but Selene might not know that.”  
  
“Well that’s just…isn’t that wonderful.” Stark made a sardonic noise, face twisted into a bitterly amused expression. “So you’re telling us that we might as well have targets on our backs, because of a connection to a guy who would gladly kill us all himself?”  
  
“I don’t  _know_.” Loki was clearly restraining his temper. “Believe me if I had any solid answers, I wouldn’t be wasting your time. I’d be doing something about it.”  
  
“So what are you doing, then?” Barton straightened up. “With whatever ‘answers’ you  _do_  have.”  
  
Loki didn’t respond verbally. He stared back unblinkingly, not quite a glare but close, exhaling so heavily his shoulders gradually lowered.  
  
“Look, maybe nothing will come of all this,” the other Steve spoke up again. “Selene might not come after anyone but Loki; we don’t really know what she’s been up to in the other worlds she’s visited, besides the obvious. But now that she knows you’re adjacent to the one place she does want to reach, it seems likely she’s gonna be coming your way.”  
  
“You guys can finger-point all you want,” Captain Danvers burst in, eyes wide and brows raised behind her mask. “But if you think what’s happening here has nothing to do with you, you’re taking a big chance. When she arrives this woman is going to rip through your world like a hurricane. It’s in everyone’s best interests to get ready.”  
  
“So what do you suggest we do?” Agent Romanov asked them.  
  
The other Stark, Thor, Steve and Loki all exchanged a glance. “Keep an eye out for her,” the first man offered. “Don’t engage, if you don’t have to. But don’t give her the chance to plant any daggers in your back.”  
  
“I assume your team will be doing the same from your side?” Steve didn’t ask as much as infer.  
  
“Yeah. But unless she finds a back door it still looks like she’ll be coming to you first. You’re in the middle of her route.”  
  
“SHIELD certainly has the surveillance resources,” Romanov said easily. “It shouldn’t be too much of a task for them to start looking for her as well, once Director Fury is advised of the gravity of the situation.”  
  
“Ah, SHIELD under Nick Fury,” the other Stark commented lightly, a nostalgic look on his face as he quirked his head the other Steve’s direction. The second man’s mouth moved in a half-smile in response, nodding to show he remembered. “Now those were the days.”  
  
“They were certainly something.” The other Thor chuckled.  
  
“Do you guys still work with SHIELD all the time?” Dr. Banner was prompted to ask curiously, pointing.  
  
“Ah. Well. We’re still on pretty good terms,” other Tony remarked conversationally. “There are a lot of partnerships – Ms. Marvelous here was actually one of their agents for a while.”  
  
“Yeah.” Her voice was dry. “But we did  _not_  part on good terms.”  
  
Miss Walters raised her hand. “And I was never on good terms with them to begin with. At one point, they were trying to hunt me down just like Bruce. I’m to understand it’s a slightly different place under Maria Hill.”  
  
“Uh oh,  _Hill_  took over.” Tony came back to full alertness, glancing first to Banner and then to Steve. “You owe me a fifty.”  
  
“That was never an official bet,” Steve grumbled.  
  
“Yeah, well.” Other Stark smacked his palms together, speaking with partial reluctance. “If you want to know the truth, what I think really made most of us lose interest was Coulson retiring.” Another look to the other Steve, who nodded with a sound of agreement. “It’s really almost not even worth dealing with them, anymore.”  
  
Steve felt a river of ice slide down his back. The blood rushed away from his ears.  
  
“What did you just say?”  
  
He could feel the fixed eyes of the others behind him. To a one they all stood temporarily speechless.   
  
Barton at last found a reason worth moving in closer.   
  
“Phil Coulson. Special agent for SHIELD. You said your version of him…retired?”  
  
“I know, right?” Other Stark waved a hand in joking disbelief. “I honestly don’t know how they even managed it. If there ever was a guy that was married to his job-”  
  
“Our version of Coulson is dead,” Barton spoke over him. After raising his voice abruptly to get attention, he lowered it with a note of respect. “Killed in action. Been gone nearly a year now.”  
  
The mood of the entire room instantly shifted. Shock and dismay settled into the faces of the visitors.  
  
“What?” The other Stark seemed stuck on the disbelief level of receiving the news. “He…? No.”  
  
Other Thor had recovered the fastest of them, and now stood with head bowed, gaze lowered respectfully to the floor.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” the other Steve said – an honest, heartfelt acknowledgement for the loss of a soldier. For a moment Steve had to set his teeth and shut his eyes. “Phil Coulson was a good man, and a good friend to us, for many years. I’m sure you must’ve deeply felt his loss.”  
  
“We did,” Romanov stated in succinct, quiet truth. “It’d be fair to say we still do.”  
  
Other Steve nodded, understanding. “Of course.”  
  
“How did he die?” Of course it was the other version of Stark that had to ask. “I mean, what happened to him?”  
  
No one spoke. Steve didn’t dare look in the direction of where Loki stood, right beside his brother. Neither did Dr. Banner, or Agent Romanov. Agent Barton gazed off heatedly into space.  
  
But Tony? Tony was looking right at him; eyes bright with emotion and unblinking, his mouth barely trembling from the effort of keeping it pressed into a hard, furious line.  
  
Between where he was looking and where the rest were pointedly not, realization gradually dawned on the faces of the others.  
  
“Oh god,” Miss Walters breathed, softly.  
  
With morbid curiosity Steve had to look now, because he wanted to see how this version of Loki was going to react. It sounded as if he might have even known Coulson on their world. Would the news of what happened have any impact?  
  
The immediate answer appeared to be ‘yes’, which he supposed in itself didn’t surprise him that much. But like a lot of things with Loki the reaction was…subtle.  
  
Steve missed what his expression might have looked like when he first heard the news. By the time eyes were back on him, Loki had that steady, brittle air about him of a man who is breathing deep and schooling his face into not giving any emotion.  
  
He turned his head slowly to the side, as if trying to find the most unobtrusive way to hide out of sight, while his brother was staring at him aghast and with obvious concern.  
  
Not all the Avengers were looking at Loki, though. Maybe half of them were. The other half was watching their counterparts, everyone waiting to see how everyone else would react. What anyone at this point could possibly say. The tension held a definite feeling of challenge.  
  
“No, no,” Steve said out loud, before any of the others could make the mistake of trying to answer it. “Nobody say anything. Not a word, you hear me?” He looked not just at them but his own people as well. “There’s nothing that can be said to that.”  
  
He shifted on his feet, standing straight and tall as he addressed the dimensional visitors, already bringing himself closer to his people.  
  
“Thank you all, for coming. For everything you told us,” he said to them. “Now, I think we’re done here.”  
  
The other Thor’s lips parted instinctively, as if to protest. The other Steve brushed against his forearm, a stilling gesture.  
  
“Yes,” the other Steve agreed. “I guess we are.”


	5. Janus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So like how I said I was going to try and put out new chapters faster and that immediately turned into a two-month delay? Yuck. Sorry.
> 
> Well, most of the real-life stuff I alluded to previously is over with now, so hopefully it should be a little better. Not sure if I'm going to be able to finish up everything before Thor 2 comes out, as was my original aim, but I'm going to try my best to do it anyway. Off to roll up my sleeves.

In his youth, well through all his many days, Thor had imagined endlessly what it would be like to have grand adventures.

Not sparring on the training grounds. Not even the boldest fights between the worthiest of opponents, beneath Asgard’s golden skies. Not the typical questing and journeying and mishaps undertaken by any hearty youth. But adventures, _true_ adventures – worthy of a warrior who was known as Thor the Mighty, worthy of the wielder of the legendary Mjolnir; worthy of the son of a king.

An adventure, like the ones out of his father’s stories. Like the tales told to him at bedtime. Like the ones that were sung of by the bards in songs, late at night at the feasts of the dining hall, the details of those epic deeds painting the air temporarily with visions other than that of tables loaded with platters, gilded walls and smoky air. With smells other than roasted meat and sounds beside the clinking of goblets.

The young prince drank all those stories in, and he lived longing for his turn.

How glorious the day would be, when at last he faced a real challenge. Heard the far-off howls on a battlefield surrounded with warriors, the pounding of the drums of war. Faced down a ferocious enemy with the fate of entire kingdoms hanging in the balance.

He knew one day it would come – it would _have_ to; it must! For how could a warrior such as he live without ever finding himself in the midst of a grand situation that one knew was meant to be written about?

A chance to _prove_ himself. To go down in memory and word, to be spoken of throughout the ages.

He envisioned what it would be like. He imagined how he would feel: fierce and brave, and full of excitement. Proudly laughing, triumphant that at last his testing had come.

Time and time again he had thought of it, yearned for it. Time and time again…until this time.

This time, when he finally had what he always wanted. A battle against an all-powerful foe. The fate of three worlds, perhaps all the realms hanging in the balance. A day that would forever live on in history.

But it didn’t feel anything like Thor thought it would.

He did not feel brave. Nor fierce and proud. And possibly the last thing he felt at all was excited.

His blood was hot, the rush of battle thrumming in his veins. But he had no time to enjoy it. He was too busy being filled with fear – yes, _fear_ – of what would happen if he failed.

He was sick to his stomach, full up with dread and terror, with no room in his head to think. He was not glad this was happening. His heart felt heavy. And hollow.

When he had faced down the Destroyer on Earth, defended the small town it had been sent to ravage, he did not think to appreciate how regal he had probably looked, facing the monstrosity down.  How noble. All he could do was pray that some way, somehow, what he was trying to do would work.

And now here he was back on Asgard, with his weapon in his hand, with all his strength, fighting tooth and nail to try and stop the Bifrost, to try and stop something _terrible_ from happening.

He was doing something heroic, something he had known he was always meant for, something he had craved his entire life. But he wasn’t enjoying any of it.

And perhaps, that was because all this time, whenever he’d pictured his grand deeds, his brother was always fighting alongside him.

Not fighting against him – the very threat that Thor had to try and stop.

How had they come here? How had this happened? How in the nine hells…but there was no time.

All there was, was fist and armor, hammer and spear, the hiss of magic cutting air like a knife and the punishing sound of bodies meeting in an exchanging of blows.

This was no practice spar. No misadventure carried out by a pair of delinquent children. This was a battle to the end.

Thor felt desperate and alone. There was no power left in the universe to help him, and he wasn’t sure if his own strength would be enough. Loki’s face was a twisted visage of hatred, his eyes cold but wild. His strikes were anything but weakened, or unsure.

Thor tried to cling to his resolve but it was so very, very hard.

 _My brother is trying to kill me,_ was the numb singsong litany that kept echoing in his head. Unthinkable, impossible, and yet: _My brother is trying to kill me._

He was fighting with everything he had, fists swinging desperately, air roaring past his ears, trying to hold his footing even as the ground felt uneven and tilted beneath his feet.

Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing, that had ever seemed solid and secure…it was all gone.

They burst out of the observatory and went flying, rolling, propelled by the damage they were doing to one another. The surface of the bridge was hard beneath their backs.

Thor slipped, almost to the edge, but he hauled himself up from the brink. And instantly, for multiple reasons, he was casting around, looking for his brother.

Loki had slipped too and seemed not to have the strength left to pull himself back. With both hands he hung on, desperate, his face strained and white.

Thor could not move quickly. His limbs seemed to refuse to respond. It was hard to shake the sensation that he was walking in a dream. That all of this – all this chaos and misery – had to be a million miles away.

Loki looked up at him, pleading. His voice was a whisper. “Brother, please.”

And Thor…thought not of the fact that, only a few moments before, Loki had renounced all claims as his brother. The recollection was far from his mind.

When he looked into Loki’s eyes he convinced himself he saw not just a plea for aid, but also sorrow. That he begged for forgiveness as well.

 _Oh, Loki._ Thor felt the heaviest burden on his shoulders, even as he wearily believed the fight was over. _What have you done? What is to become of us, now?_

But of course he reached down, and knelt as he held out to his brother a hand.

And the penitent vision of Loki disappeared immediately, dissolving into nothing and fog.

Thor turned sharply, just in time to hear Loki cackle at him mockingly, see his younger sibling lifting Gungnir to strike him down. Needles of pain cast along Thor’s skin and for a moment the bright light blinded him.

He lay on his back, winded, the crystals of the Rainbow Road cold and unforgivingly hard at his back.

Loki laughed again. He reared his head, and taunted Thor by casting an army of illusions. He was surrounded on all sides by a seemingly endless foray of Lokis, all of them laughing at him.

Thor felt his anger grow, and he gave into it because there seemed left no other recourse. He could still hear the warning sounds of the Bifrost, spinning on out of control, over the artificial din of Loki’s laughter. And hadn’t his brother caused him _enough_ torment? Hadn’t this gone on long enough?

His fingers tightened around the handle of Mjolnir. He prepared to heft it up for a mighty blow.

But then something…happened. And he never got that chance.

He was watching Loki intently, furiously, waiting for his opening. And then all of sudden, out of nowhere, a blade burst through his brother’s chest from his back.

Loki’s laugh died off in surprise, and a weak gurgle. The illusions disappeared, flickering like a candle going out. Loki gazed down at the blood-coated sword that protruded from his front, helplessly.

With a sharp, slick, wet sound, the blade was pulled free again. And then Loki fell.

Thor was on his feet, then his knees, without ever having been aware he was moving. Later he would recall staring at the prone body for what felt like an eternity, stupefied. But in the moment it seemed to happen so fast.

He dove to the ground and gathered Loki up, holding him, shaking him futilely.

But Loki’s eyes stared up past him blindly. There was blood on the corner of his clever mouth, and he would never speak again. Gungnir had fallen limply from his uncurled fingers, rolling against the floor.

Worse and even more seeming impossible than _“My brother is trying to kill me”_ was this: _“My brother is dead”._

Mere seconds ago Loki had been transformed into an enemy, and that was now gone in an instant. Thor went into shock.

“No…” He clutched Loki to him, eyes wide, pulse beating frantic and his very soul feeling raw. “No! _No!_ ” The one word turned into an elongated cry, a scream.

A shadowy female figure stood on the bridge, not having moved from where she’d impaled Loki through the back. She was like nothing Thor had ever seen: a dark woman with strange markings on her face, and skin like a ghost.

Listlessly she lowered her sword, casting a passing gaze along the red that stained the blade.

“Believe it or not,” she told Thor dispassionately, “I just did you a favor.” She cast the sword aside – it looked to have been stolen from a guardsman, and it clattered where it fell.

“Judging from what I’ve seen in the timelines of other worlds, I saved you a lot of future trouble.”

Thor did not answer her. He did not look to her as she turned and walked away, nor see what became of her as she performed dark magic and then disappeared.

He had no eyes or ears, no care for anything that was around him – not this vanishing assassin, not the Bifrost to which he would eventually have to attend.

He stayed where he was, on his knees, with his arms wrapped around his brother’s chest, his head pillowed against his brother’s silent heart.

In a long grief-stricken howl he unleashed his pain to the heavens.

*

It was a quick enough trip back from one world to the next for the Avengers that had appointed themselves as emissaries, and then after that, another quick trip by Bifrost for the king of Asgard and his brother.

There was little talking to accompany either journey. It seemed, somehow, a solemn occasion. And each player no doubt had their own deep thoughts to ruminate in – ones the others didn’t want to disturb, all meanwhile caught up in their own.

It wasn’t until they stood side by side in an empty hall, each faintly aware of the sound of the other man breathing, that Thor felt compelled to force a smile and at last break the oppressing silence.

“Well. That went mostly well, I think.”

He looked to Loki – who slowly turned his head, giving him a blank hard look through eyes half-lidded.

Thor’s smile faltered, nervously, made anxious by not being able to determine Loki’s mood. He waited for his brother to say something but he did not.

Frustrated by the silence, Thor was about to open his mouth to continue speaking but he faltered, not knowing what to say. He looked to the floor.

Loki at last took mercy on him – about a moment too late not to be awkward. “Did you?” His voice was quiet, almost a sigh.

Thor forcefully brushed off his uncertain feelings and drew himself up again.

“Yes,” he stated, confident. “We told them everything that was crucial to know of. Now they are ready. Armed with knowledge, and vigilance, should it be they that first come into direct combat with Selene.”

Loki’s mouth twitched at the corner. “I don’t think we can depend overmuch on their support.”

Thor frowned. “Selene is a monster. A grave threat to any realm she visits. And these other Avengers – though we know not much of them, we know they must be heroes. Sworn defenders of the innocent. For they are _us_.”

He looked away again, nodding to himself.

“They will do what they can, whatever it is that needs to be done.” He drew a slight breath, before uttering words he didn’t anywhere close to fully believe: “It’s possible they may even manage to stop her before she makes it here.”

“That’s assuming they feel the need to involve themselves.” Loki murmured, “If Selene goes straight for the throat, and right to my self of that world? Those other Avengers may stand on by, and do nothing.”

“Those are good men and women you speak of,” Thor protested, indignant. “Your friends and allies, as well as mine! You would think-”

“We aren’t speaking of our world, brother, of our time,” Loki interrupted him stolidly. “Those Avengers are not our friends and allies.” He spoke with even greater gravity of meaning: “In that world, they still know me as an enemy.”

Thor hesitated again. “True enough,” he conceded, soft. But his optimism was not completely daunted. “But you were our enemy once, too.” Coming closer he rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “And even then I know, were you to face a threat beyond your reach, we would have come to help you. Tis no bold man, who honors only those that are kind to him.”

But Loki slowly shook his head, the muscles of his face taut. “It is not the same.”

“How so?”

Again his mouth twitched, hovering somewhere between smirk and grimace. But it was gone, as fast as it came.

“You didn’t see the way they looked at me,” he stated, resignation in his eyes.

“I did,” Thor rebutted, quietly. “There was a time once where those I consider my earthly brothers-in-arms would’ve looked at you much the same.”

“No. They would not. Not like that.” Loki was adamant. “You may think that time has clouded my remembering, made my recollections softer, more _kind_. But believe me, they have _not_.”

Thor could do nothing at first but gaze at him, taken aback. Loki moved away, eyes cast straight ahead, focused heatedly on nothing.

“Things are different, in that world. We may have much, very much, in common, but we are not the same.” Throat moving, he shook his head as he visibly thought.

“I don’t know. But I do get the sense…I think the Loki of their world has fallen farther than I ever did, and is a much darker man than I ever was.”

“How can you think this?” Thor demanded. Despite Loki’s misgivings, this dread that seemed to hang over his brother, he was far from convinced. Surely, Loki was just being paranoid.

He lowered his voice the question would not seem so flippant, but still he asked, “What worse things could he have done?”

Loki gave him no response, at first. He continued looking at nothing, lost in the spinning of his thoughts.

“I’m not sure,” he eventually was heard to remark. There was another twitch of his mouth, but this time with an air of weary sadness.

“I killed a lot of men,” he noted, bleakly wry. “But never anyone _important_.”

Thor had to take a moment to make certain he maintained his composure, reminded as he was by the news they’d received of what happened to the other world’s Phil Coulson. But like always, he would not give in to his brother’s bleaker thoughts.

Loki was wise, in ways Thor knew he never would be. But he was suspicious of everyone, and he always expected the worst.

The situation with Selene’s return was dire enough as it was. There was no need to give into wild speculation, making trouble out of nothing and conjuring new problems from thin air.

They would stand together; they would do what they must, and they would handle this. Thor knew better than to suppose it an easy battle, but he was resolute that they’d do everything they could to protect their family, and the realm.

And he…he was _tired_. Facing down such a looming threat, weighted with concern and anger and fear, and dealing with the strangeness of it all.

Thor was not one to shirk responsibility. But he refused to be pulled it by what he had deemed Loki’s purposeless sense of foreboding because, frankly, he didn’t _want_ to worry. At least, not any more than was truly necessary.

“Do not worry, brother,” he directed Loki, affectionate. “There are many preparations we must make but for now, we have done all that we can. And I’m certain our charge in the other world is in the best of hands.”

Loki pressed his lips together but did not, out loud at least, voice that he disagreed.

Thor smiled at him, considering the matter settled. He nodded. “You should rest. I know you pretend otherwise, but the part you played in maintaining the crossing took its toll on you.”

He went to make his exit, boots striking hard against the flagstones of the hall, heavy cape swirling in his wake.

“Now, I wish to go greet my wife, and my children. And hopefully I will see you at supper.”

As farewells went it was a far from fanciful one, but between them it sufficed. And Thor knew he would see his brother again soon – it was rare, after all, if he did not see him every day. In addition to familial closeness Loki served as his most important advisor.

And so Asgard’s young king took his leave, disappearing from the hall toward his chamber.

He didn’t look back, and so he failed to see that behind him, his younger brother’s face had done anything but grow less serious.

*

Thor went straight to his family and the comforts of company; Loki did not. While it was understandable if his brother wanted to shake off the pall brought on by dealing with such strange and dark tidings, he had cause to ruminate on them for a while.

Alone he remained in a cold and empty chamber, shoulder resting against a pillar and body half-cast in shadow, secure in the privacy of his thoughts.

While Thor never hesitated in doing something simply because it was hard, he made no secret that such things gave him great discomfort. But in this like so many other things he and Loki were opposites. Indeed it could almost be said he found a kind of succor of placing himself under emotional and mental hardship – if not exactly _comfortable_ then, such circumstances tended to feel, to him, somehow reassuring.

Maybe it was only that he could be less leery, always looking over his shoulder waiting for bad news to rear its head, when he was _already_ suffering.

Not for the first time he wished dearly that he’d been able to kill Selene for good when he first fought her. He had always known that in lieu of her death, this was not and could never be over. He knew that someday, somehow, she would be freed again. And that when she did he would likely be her first stop.

Selene was not the kind of monster to allow herself to be caged without taking reprisal. That was something he understood all too well.

But it’d never occurred to him years ago when picturing the far-off but likely possibility of her return, that when she did it would be from outside the confines of space and time.

He could see well how it had happened. Loki had had no idea as to the particulars of the shadowy realm he’d sent her to in defeat – where or when or even what it was. It seemed that in the process of finding her way back from that place, she’d had to take the long way around, and ended up in a very different corner of reality from which she had started.

Loki had seen many far distant planets and realms in his many travels. He considered himself more well-versed in the wide range of creation than most. But he had never broken through the barrier before, and visited an entire dimension outside his own.

Perhaps at another time it would have been different. But under these circumstances, he found it very troubling indeed.

It was to be supposed from what he had already seen and heard that this world so close in neighboring their own boasted more similarities than differences. Loki however found that far from reassuring – he remembered well the being he had once been, not so very long ago. Remembered the thoughts he had harbored, the poisonous feelings that had driven desires for bloodlust and devastation.

And he knew from his remembering something perhaps no outsider could have ever guessed: how close he had come at times, how _easy_ it would have been, to have taken a slightly different turn, to have slipped further down the darkened path. To have changed from the bad seed he already was into something else - a creature no man could pity, or want to save.

Something he suspected that his counterpart in this other reality might have already warped into.

If so, the Avengers would not wish to help him, and they could not be blamed for it. They wouldn’t succeed even if they tried. For hostile and unsteady as he would be, _no one_ could help that Loki - but himself.

Thor, of course, was underestimating the problem, and failed to see the danger. Like very often always he thought Loki was too worried for no reason. But Loki could not shake his deep feeling of foreboding, a mixture of alarm and dread.

For he suspected that even this first aspect to the problem was far from handled. That if left unchecked, as it were, an already terrible situation had the potential to grow much worse.

And the only actions he could see that offered up any chance of being solutions, carried as much risk and potential consequences of their own.

Trying to shake his thoughts from their helpless looping to the same bad ends, Loki put his body into action and let his feet carry him elsewhere. He found himself being led down the stairs deep beneath the palace, to the vault that served as Asgard’s ancient magic treasure room.

The cold and darkened confine of that protected cellar was not perhaps the most natural place for Loki to go. Especially considering what would forever remain some of his worst memories came from there. But considering his only desire was to remain alone in his thoughts the destination made as much sense as any else.

Besides, it was impossible for Loki to go anywhere with no painful memories at all.

Once having taken the many stone steps down however he discovered to his mild surprise he was not entirely alone. The All-Father was there, standing near to the end of the aisle, his back to the door and seemingly giving no regard for his younger son’s arrival.

His position never wavered and he spoke no words. One might think he hadn’t realized Loki was there.

But Loki was not so easily fooled. He made his way at an even pace, barely glancing at the various artifacts housed to his left and right.

There were things here, things of great wonder and ancient power – in the old days they had captivated Loki’s curiosity, and he had wanted to know all their stories, hungered for a chance to study them closely himself. And there had been a time when, in his darkest hour, he would have liked to steal one or two of them, to take their power into himself, to bring all the heavens into trembling.

But those were days long past, and the vault now held nothing to which he attended any interest. To him those ancient treasures had lost all sparkle of glory, and all he saw now when he looked around were old shades of both youth and bitterness, echoes of angry words once said lurking in among the dust if he cared to listen.

He did not. In fact he went to studious lengths to avoid them.

The Casket of Jotunheim was long gone, but in its place stood a talisman with its own ugly history: chained to the wall, suspended mid-air and guarded by powerful magics, was the corrupt blade once wielded by the being called Selene.

The All-Father stood directly center a small distance before it, and appeared to be studying it contemplatively.

Back straight and shoulders slightly raised, Loki continued his pace forward and upon receiving no words of reproach came inevitably over to join him.

“Greetings, All-Father.”

“Good evening.” Head not turning and gaze of his one eye fixed forward, the All-Father’s tone was placidly composed. “How went your journey to that other realm?”

“It went well…well enough,” Loki corrected, sighing. “Thor can fill you in later on the details.”

“But your mission, your aim in bringing the two worlds together. It was successful?”

He considered it. Overall, the goal had been to inform. They had done that. Beyond that, anything would’ve only been an added blessing. Frustrating when denied but in truth, it conformed mostly to his expectations.

“Aye. Our ends were met. There should be no need in the immediate future for such another undertaking.”

“Good.” His father’s remark was satisfied, bearing a note of finality. He did not speak again, not straight away.

The two of them remained in this easy, studious silence. Loki followed his parent’s example and his eyes too went to Selene’s great sword.

He half-imagined, half-saw the tendrils of black magic that writhed across the steel, licking the ends of the blade where the metal had become impossibly sharp. That sword, Loki remembered, could cut through anything. _Anything_. Be it stone or flesh or wood from an aged tree. The only thing that had ever met and barred its heft was the head of Mjolnir.

But Mjolnir was made by noble craftsmen, forged out of the very life and strength of the universe. The sword had been cast over and over again in blood and arcane magics to give it its power.

It was an _evil_ weapon, designed to serve an evil master.

Looking at it, feeling even at a distance the taint left in the air by its sorcery, Loki’s memories of fighting Selene came back to him again in more vibrant detail. The look on her face and the hungry gleam in her eyes as she swung at him. How strong she had been, how difficult to fight and defeat. The desperate determination he had felt at the time.

And for Selene to have escaped now – she must have grown even stronger, and who knew for her how much time had passed.

Loki felt again his ominous worry, a stomach-turning sensation that travelled rapidly down his spine.

But still he remained silent. It was Odin at last who spoke first.

“When I first crossed paths with the shaman woman all those centuries ago, I knew there was something wrong about her, but I could have never imagined all the _wickedness_ that was to come,” he mused aloud, his aged voice a low and powerful rumble. “So much misery and death, emanating outwards from a single point in history. A single chance, or a single choice. A single set of actions.”

Loki’s breath thickened in his throat, and he swallowed carefully, knowing that the All-Father’s words could describe many things in Asgard’s history besides the story of Selene. The war with Jotunheim, for example.

 _Or the madness of Loki Odinson,_ he thought grimly.

“I should have ended it then,” the former king continued, his words a pronouncement with a note of regret. “If only I had had the chance. After everything she did…” He trailed off, and for a moment the muscles in both fists clenched tight. “…and I let her go.”

“She vanished,” Loki reminded him, soft. “You had other responsibilities.”

“I was a young man, and a fool. I looked at the Kinslayer and though I regretted her escape, I couldn’t imagine what she might grow to in time. I hadn’t the forethought.”

He turned his head and partially stepped aside, the better to look directly at his son. No matter the circumstances, Loki always felt a weight on him when he was fixed as the sole focus of that singular eye.

But this time the All-Father’s gaze was intense with affection; the pained weight of a parent’s protective love for their offspring.

“This shouldn’t have come down to you, or your brother. Selene was my enemy first. You should have never had to become involved.” He sighed. “If only I had killed her when I’d the chance – none of this would have ever happened.”

Loki managed an almost-smile. “We have both had our failings. We’ll just have to make sure things are rectified this time.”

“Aye – and it falls to you to have to set them right. For you to be the one to have to face her. For _your children_ to be the ones that may be in danger, when instead-”

The All-Father abruptly cut off his own words. For a beat of time he fell silent again, head dropping, hands and shoulders clenched tightly as he faced the floor with a closed eye. He looked overcome by the strain of emotion.

When he recovered himself, he exhaled. “Forgive me. I am an old man, and it becomes easy for me to fall lost into my own thoughts.” He gave a tired, humorless smile. “I have so many days to reflect back on.”

“What you have is the wisdom of firsthand experience through many ages,” Loki said diplomatically. “King or not, Asgard is blessed to still have you around, so that other generations may benefit from your council.”

Odin turned his head with a chuckle. “And I’m sure the generations you speak of are pleased to have my advice, instead of considering them the prattling of a former warrior past his prime. No; there’s nothing left for me now but to spend all my remaining time on my family. But I am a far from unfortunate man for that.”

Loki agreed, “Of course, Father.” He knew how much his elder loved his many grandchildren.

Odin looked at him again, this time a glimmer in his eye. He seemed to be clinging to careful composure.

“It never fails to make me happy, every time, and fill me with such sense of empowering reprieve,” he said, words quiet but heavy, “to hear you call me that.”

Loki froze, needing a moment of his own to assemble a proper and collected response.

But at long last, that final amends had been made – still a relatively short time ago, for all the years Loki had spent hating his father, and then after that holding him at cold if polite disdain. But it’d been made all the same, and no less. It had been almost too easy, to let that final burden fall.

They both had their scars, which there would be no removing. And there were many things Loki thought he would never be able to forgive his father for. But he no longer denied his parent, the connection to the man that had raised him, whose shadow had lingered always over his existence.

Family, after all, was everything.

He gave his father a mostly even smile, able to fight off his trembling.

He realized there was nothing that he need say. To simply look back and stand there meeting his father’s eye was more than enough.

Being gifted with words meant knowing that there were some times when the most eloquent course was to say nothing at all.

So they exchanged their look, and then they both turned to go. Walking together, he allowed his father to rest one hand upon his shoulder for support, Odin’s arm briefly moving to the back of Loki’s neck as they went – for them, quite nearly the equivalent of a hug.

*

Contrary to his brother’s hopes, Loki did not join them in the hall that evening to dine. In fact, none of his family saw him the rest of the day.

As it turned out, he had plans he needed to make. He needed to do research, and gather some resources, for he had a daunting task before him – an undertaking of great magic.

Though the situation with Selene and his counterparts of other realities was hardly something Loki intended to let pass, originally he meant to leave it lay for a while as he thought it over. Letting it stew in the back of his mind, biding his time as he considered what to do next.

But though he certainly couldn’t have meant to, the All-Father had reminded him of something. Selene was not always single-minded in taking on her enemies. She had a particular fondness for making them suffer by killing off their loved ones.

If Selene did indeed arrive in their world and she found out Loki had started a family, they’d almost undoubtedly become her new targets. It wouldn’t be enough for Loki to be dead, after all; she would want him to _ache_.

Loki had been willing to risk his own life by waiting to see what might happen, willing to face Selene firsthand. But if it meant risking his wife, his children? No. _Never._

It would be stopped, before the danger drew anywhere near. Selene could not be allowed to reach their world, if there stood the slightest chance his sons and daughters would be caught in the crossfire.

So Loki went to work. He hid himself away, and avoided all contact. Not just because he wanted no distractions, but because he didn’t want his family to know what he was up to. They would be far from pleased, if they found out.

He couldn’t run the risk that they might try to stop him.

The majority of the day passed by. It wasn’t until evening, not long after the setting the sun, that the one person Loki counted on to eventually find him showed up at his door.

The rap from Darcy’s knuckles rang out in time with her voice, calling for him: “Loki, are you in there? Open up!”

She sounded impatient, a bit vexed, but clear underneath it all was a note of concern.

Loki had been expecting this, expecting her; anticipating the moment of her arrival. Fate help him, it actually was part of his plan.

He opened the door enough so that he could stand in it, back covering the view of what was behind him even as he stepped halfway out into the hall.

“ _There_ you are.” Darcy gazed up at him, squinting briefly, frowning. “How long have you been holed up in there? I didn’t even know you’d come back until I ran into Thor. What’s going on?”

“I had things on my mind,” Loki said, avoiding the question. “Did I worry you, my love?”

“‘Worry’ is a strong word – well, okay, maybe a little. It’s weird when you don’t say anything, and then I don’t see you all day…at least, not that I know.” She rolled her eyes. “Considering it’s always possible you could be standing right next to me invisible, or walking around in some magic disguise…”

She put up with so much from him at times, he thought to himself with warm fondness. Not that he would require any less, from anyone who desired to be such a part of his life: it was simply who he was.

But Darcy had learned to let some of what might be considered the strangest behaviors roll past her like they were nothing. She adapted to him without any discomfort, or sign of conscious effort on her part.

 _I love you,_ Loki thought fiercely, and felt the urge to hold her to him in strong embrace. He resisted, however, not wanting to give her more cause to wonder. Instead he settled for caressing her cheek with his fingertips.

“Come inside,” he told her. “I have something I want to show you.”

“Oh?” Her eyes lit up – interested but suspicious. One never knew what to expect from Loki’s ‘surprises’, but Darcy would never be fully turned off the prospect. She was too curious. “What is it?”

“Come,” he repeated, and taking both her hands in his he stepped back, leading her into the room.

Inside she would find that he certainly _had_ been busy. The bed lay at the very center of the room, decorated with fresh sheets and hangings. The furniture and everything else had been carefully moved aside, pulled back so that it stood within a circle of open space. The air was perfumed with oil, the mild smoky spice of incense and the sweetness of dried flowers petals. An ornate design of spirals and stars had been drawn on the floor in golden paint, leading the way to the bed. Candles burned at regular intervals all along the path, tracing it.

Loki gently shut the door behind her as he allowed Darcy to stand there and take it all in.

He met her gaze silently when at last she turned to him. He could tell by the wideness of her eyes she didn’t really know _what_ to say.

“It is _not_ our anniversary,” she finally stated.

He laughed a bit, soft. “No,” he assured her. “I am well aware.” Down where she couldn’t see it he felt a brief twinge in his left hand, moving the finger that held his wedding ring. “But I…I know I’ve been distant these past days. Distracted. Neglectful. I wanted to make it up to you.”

She let him move in, hand cupping under her chin, his face close to hers, but she continued to frown. “If you’ve been preoccupied it’s because you found out that Selene is back and she’s on a roaring multi-dimensional revenge kick to come after us. You think I don’t get that? Hell, _I’ve_ been pretty worried too.” She tilted her head back, incredulously meeting his eyes.

He nodded, gently pulling her to him again. “I know. And we have due cause to worry – it would be foolish, to pretend otherwise. But for now, we are here, and she is not.”

He leaned over her, into her, hand going to the small of her back to help support her as much to simply _feel_ her as he brushed his face against hers, trailing breathy almost-kisses along her cheek and the side of her neck, stopping by her ear as he continued:

“We should not stop ourselves because of fear what tomorrow may or may not bring. Don’t let her win. Not like that.”

Darcy’s eyes had closed, mouth parted as she surrendered into his touch. Her eyes opened again, though, to look at him seriously when he removed himself, enough so he’d space to meet her gaze.

Loki’s eyes bored unblinkingly into hers, devoted and intense. He gave a faint smile as he held her head between both his hands, fingers threaded delicately between locks of her hair. Darcy’s own hands had gone to his chest, and lay flat there even as she partially arched her upper body away, the better to look at his face.

“Don’t even think about her. Let us…live for today. And _have_ one another.”

Darcy seemed to consider that a moment or two before she replied. She glanced over at the bed, the preparations, the oil and the candles.

“So, that’s the reason you did all this?” she murmured, her body drifting inexorably closer to his. “Something really special, to keep our mind off the bad times? That’s why you put in this…effort?”

His hand moved up her spine, from her back to the sensitive skin at the base of her neck. “Yes.”

Darcy smiled, those beautiful, full lips of hers curving widely.

“Okay,” she agreed. “You’re right. No point in letting it go to waste.”

She stepped even closer to him. Every movement, every slightest bit of tension in their bodies was purposeful. They watched each other with heated understanding – a silent interplay between their eyes, a series of questions and answers in a kind of secret language born out of experience.

Loki took one strap of her gown in his fingers, gliding it down her skin from her right shoulder. She held still, turning her head to watch the action with a mild, almost impassive look on her face.

But that one strap was all she gave him. She stepped back again, out of reach, moving closer so she was nearer to the bed, guiding them both toward it even as it was at her back.

With a proud sensuous smirk Darcy reached behind to undo the fastenings on the back of her gown. Then she undressed herself the rest of the way, layers of fabric slipping, revealing her naked body beneath.

He watched her unfailingly, both knowing how they enjoyed this, the back and forth games they played of control.

Darcy stood there, her clothing in a ring around her feet, and Loki came to her, hands going first to her shoulders as he took her once more in his arms. They kissed passionately, Darcy pressing into him even as both their hands flew to make quick work of his clothing as well.

Memory came to him – how once his young mortal lover had struggled and fumbled with the sometimes complex construction of his clothes, cursing. But oh, Darcy had no such problems now: she undressed her Asgardian husband with deft expertise.

Still, Loki had planned ahead for tonight, and worn something relatively _uncomplicated_ …in preparation. To save them both time.

Together they had him rid of his garments in a matter of moments, joining Darcy’s on the floor, and still kissing and petting one another they moved their eager tangle to the bed, where the real fun awaited.

Loki had a hold of her by the hips; Darcy let her upper body fall back among the mountain of waiting cushions, her arms curving then dropping up over her head. She kept a firm grip on her husband by one set of knuckles woven between locks of his thick black hair. He knelt down, neither fully astride nor beneath her, not yet. Leaning in he kissed her stomach, then the space just between her breasts.

On her back Darcy made a quiet sound, eyes momentarily closing again as she lifted her hips, thrusting up at him in command. Loki met her gaze knowingly but he lingered, taking time to fully caress the curves of her bosom one-handed, even as he teased her nipple with his mouth.

His wife rewarded him with another of her little sounds, and by lightly clawing the side of his throat with the flat edge of her nails; knowing how a little pressure and even pain to that sensitive area made his breath catch.

He kissed her again on the underside of her cleavage, then just beneath the upward curving of one hip. Then he put his mouth to her between her legs, needing not the writhing of her thighs around his shoulders or the urgent mewling sounds she made to know he was doing things right, but heartily enjoying all the same.

He didn’t stop until she’d come the first time, and then his fingers joined the action as he urged her to a second climax, even as she started to protest – she wanted _him_ now, inside of her, taking her for all she was worth.

He fully intended to give her that – he wanted her as badly, and the taste of her in his mouth, the scent of her body was maddening.  But he also intended to leave her more than merely satisfied.

He’d hardly begun to creep away on his elbows, gathering air, before she pounced with unexpected strength and a predatory growl. _Mine,_ the very curl of her hands seemed to say, the press of her teeth where they met muscle. Loki submitted to her assault, happily, and gave as good a press in return.

The blankets and sheets and most of the pillows were swept aside, leaving the bed a canvas to make of it what they would. No words were needed, the perfumed air punctuated only by the sounds of movement, and the noises that emanated from them both almost instinctively: breathy moans and pleasured sighs and low, throaty rumbling.

Their two bodies had become all but one, so closely were they entwined, a shifting dance of warm skin against skin, bellies and arms and legs pressed together, mouths and hands roaming everywhere. There was no speed in the way they moved, necessarily, but there was urgency. The pair of them rapturous with their hunger for one another.

He was on top of her, inside her, and she wrapped her legs around him, lifting her waist up to meet him, urging him beautifully further in. He was only too happy to do as she asked, holding her to him, bending to bury his face where her shoulder met neck. They soon found a rhythm, him thrusting deeper as she squeezed him tight, their hips writhing against each other. They touched each other thoroughly, and knowingly, experience only guiding them with assurance to the best of paths.

Darcy curled her fingers into his shoulder, saying things both heartfelt and unrepeatable into his ear. Loki groaned appreciatively, back arching. But he held himself off.

Hooking her legs with his he went with slightly trembling hands to grasp her at the hips; when she glanced up he met her eyes with a nod. In a somewhat practiced maneuver they rolled over, Loki now lying on his back as she sat atop.

Darcy slid forward, letting herself dip down, grinding against him, her palms flat against his chest for balance as she swayed above him, her head thrown back exposing her throat. Loki held onto her at the legs, caressing up and down her thighs as he continued to thrust upward as much as he dared.

They were both close now, waves of pleasure passing between them in a building crescendo, their bodies electrified, senses at once both dulled and sharpened. There seemed nothing left to the world but this and now, the haze of warm damp skin and soft flesh, the sounds of their hearts racing, voices caught in their throats, held aloft together on the thick scent of oils and perfume.

But all along in the back of Loki’s mind there was another train of thought. He had lied to Darcy; what they did here, in addition to pleasure, had an entirely different purpose. He only hoped she could forgive him.

Whenever it was that she eventually found out. Whenever it was that they saw each other again.

She made a sound, almost painful in its intensity. He knew what it meant; he was about there himself, unable to sustain his control for any longer. With a groan of relief and ecstasy he let go, his release fueling hers. Darcy rocked into him one last time before she tensed up, then came collapsing down with a muffled shriek. Everything undone, and for a moment Loki was blinded by the white hot stars exploding in his eyes.

For a space of time they held still, not moving, laying against each other panting. It took what seemed an extraordinary amount of effort to lift his hand to stroke thickly through her hair. She pressed a kiss to the heel of his palm, smiling sleepily at him.

“I could fall asleep right here still inside of you,” he told her, voice low. “That’s how perfect you feel.”

She nuzzled him. “I love you, too,” she murmured without pause.

He let his head drop back, looking to the ceiling as his breath finally came back. Biting her lip she used the mattress for balance as she slid off of him, dropping down to curl against him on his right side.

Loki could fell something pulling at him, but it was not sleep. A compelling spark danced across his body – not only lust, but magic.

 _Forgive me for what I have done, my Darcy._ She had no idea what she’d just participated in, not really. What he’d used all the energy of lust they had generated between the two of them for.

The act of sex had a carnal, spiritual power entirely its own. And there was an entire field of sorcery dedicated to harnessing and using that power. With the right spell, the right amount of energy, all sorts of things could be achieved.

Including opening a gateway into another world.

The candles, the incense were not to set the mood but parts to a spell. The pattern Loki had drawn on his bedroom floor looked merely beautiful but in truth its ornate whirls were symbols, runes that made up a complex incantation. Designed to draw in and capture the sensual energy exerted, bringing it to an apex and allowing Loki, in mind and spirit though not in body, to cross over to another place.

He could feel it already calling to him, trying to draw him away as what was around him grew hazy, less and less real. He tried to buy himself time, looking over to Darcy and running a hand along her body.

She had closed her eyes, her breathing slowing. If he did nothing to catch her attention she would soon be asleep. He could feel his body longing to do the same – but the instant he closed his eyes, his soul would be away. Darcy would think she slumbered beside him and have no idea he was really gone.

He drank in the sight of her face, not knowing when he would see her again. The separation that had not even begun filled him with pangs of longing. He wanted to so badly to say goodbye to her, but she couldn’t know what he was about to do. No one could, in order for his plan to work.

He stroked a path back along her spine, his spread fingers meeting the marks she bore that made up her Asgardian name. _Sigyn; she who is victorious._ The woman whose heart conquered the darkness.

She would be fine without him, he assured himself. She was too strong for that.

And as much as he hated to part from her – he did this for her, for everything they had made together. He did this to save his family.

No matter what the risk or the terrible undertaking, he would do anything, if he thought it would protect them.

“I love you, now and always,” he leaned up and whispered in her ear. Then he pulled his arm away and lay on his back next to her. Drawing in a breath, he let his eyelids fall.

Immediately the world became as a black abyss, rushing at him, and he left his physical reality behind.

*

Loki was overcome by the sensation of being aloft inside a burst of wind, of hurtling bodiless through a great expanse. He had no sense of physical connection whatsoever, everything he was experiencing made up of spirit alone, as he crossed over rapidly into the cosmic web between worlds.

He was not in space; he was not anywhere that could be visited physically. He had reached a plane known only to practitioners of arcane magics, and one that some of the wisest of them feared to tread.

He might have been armed with only the best of intentions, but what he attempted now could not be passed on under any terms as an act of “good” magic.

The things he touched on as he was pulled along would have warped his mind if he let them. Instead he let himself be calm, thoughts empty – focused only on the journey.

The magic he had woven so purposefully propelled him onwards at a rate that made it impossible to take in what was happening, even if he could have tried. Color and light seemed to be everywhere, explosions in kaleidoscope bursts. He had no eyes, and yet he saw. But what he experience could not be described within the language of sight.

But then Loki felt his spiritual self meet with an impediment. Things became murky. His ascent seemed to slow, then stop completely.

This was not supposed to happen. He hadn’t reached his destination; but he could feel himself entangled in something, caught as surely as a web did a fly.

And this was not a place he could fight back. He tried to resist, struggling using his will alone. But whatever he was fighting was surely the stronger.

Desperately he tried to cling to the last golden threads of the spell he had cast. Shredded, it was ripped from him. He could feel the last vestiges of it fading as it floated away, taken by the ether.

Though he had no body he could feel himself wrapped in something. Though there was no ground he felt the sense of falling, of being swallowed up as he was dragged irrevocably down.

For a moment there was nothing, only blackness. The absolute silence that comes in the wake of a loud shout.

Then Loki found himself standing. There was a faint ringing in his ears. There was a cool atmosphere against his skin, and rocks shifted underneath his feet. He opened his eyes.

He was standing on what at first grasp he was forced to describe as an asteroid, for it was undeniably a large expanse of craggy but otherwise featureless rock. Loose pebbles crunched and clinked with every step he took, sounds that echoed in a way that seemed hollow and slightly distorted.

Large chunks of pockmarked stone hovered in the air in defiance of gravity, some floating higher or closer to the ground, blocking Loki’s view in any direction like trees in a forest. When he looked up there was nothing, no stars, no moon, no sky. When he looked down past the rock, there was nothing either, just empty gray space where existence seemed to just end.

He knew this was no place that existed, not in the physical realm. Where he was now was a construct, an imagining built straight out of someone’s mind.

It took no small amount of mental fortitude to catch him and then build this place around him, sparse though it was, to hold him in. He had underestimated his opponent greatly.

But then that, he thought with grim and sinking hindsight, could come as no surprise. His opponent was, after all, a master of magics – and one who lived to defy expectations.

Loki glanced down, absently patting at his chest as he took in what he was wearing. He had on his courtly attire, an open black surcoat with cross-patterned sleeves worn over a layered vest and tunic, decorative golden band that lay low across his throat in a manner not unlike a torc. His hair, he could feel, had been neatly combed back so that it lay straight. His wedding band rested snugly on his finger.

His mental embodiment had manifested himself in the role he most thought of himself these days: the king’s adviser, high-ranking nobleman and family head. One who belonged to Asgard, but served her more as a speaker discussing policy than a warrior who defended her in the field.

He could still fight, if he had to. But he had finally achieved the respect that he could do it now his preferred way, with words and knowledge.

Dropping his hands he turned to look around him, senses already heightened for any warning as he tried to deduce what he was to do next.

“What’s the matter? Were you not expecting me to put up a fight?”

The voice that called out was cold, mocking. And all too familiar.

Loki swallowed back a bitter taste that filled his mouth, lifting his head up as he squared his shoulders. Bracing himself, he went forward toward the sound, knowing what waited.

Weaving a path through the floating boulders he faced a jutting outcrop in the rock that towered above him. The very top had been carved into a thick, undecorated throne, a sight that boasted of power in the most aggressive and crude way possible.

And seated in the throne, gazing down at him with an angry sneer, was the other version of himself. The villainous Loki of that other world.

Loki stopped at the base of the throne a few feet back, not daring to put himself too close in range but well enough in to appear undaunted and unafraid. Despite the lack of any direct light source the throne cast a shadow that loomed over him, cloaking him in a weighty cold darkness.

The Loki that sat in the throne was wearing full armor, black and golden plate that encased him in head to toe, a full cape to complete it. It was an outfit Loki had never seen before, had never worn – too heavy and staunchly masculine for him, a design that announced its wearer on sight as a warlord, a conqueror. He had the horned helmet on – now that Loki recognized, but oh, when last had he worn it? Too long perhaps; though he would always be fond of his helm, he couldn’t help but think uncomfortably of all the times he had fought against Asgard and Midgard rather than for them.

The other Loki’s hair was longer, the ends wild. His cheeks were hollowed, and his eyes gleamed full of poison.

He had almost been this man, once – he would’ve been _glad_ to become this man, once. He shuddered, shamed and revolted.

Looking at him from his much higher vantage point, the other Loki tilted his head up so he was casting a disdainful, dismissive glance down past his own jaw.

“Tell me,” he demanded, tone full of insult, “did you really expect that you could just waltz in here, and take over control of my own mind right from under me? Did you think that I somehow _wouldn’t_ sense it? That I would put up _no_ defense?”

He leaned forward, hands gripping the armrests of his stone throne tight, fingers curled as if he would like to crush something. His manner sparked with suppressed outrage.

Loki met his counterpart’s eyes, holding his own head up, unrepentant. “No,” he admitted, “but then, I didn’t really think at all.”

He knew himself too well, to think that it should have been so easy. But oh, that was what he had _wanted_ to believe. And ultimately that had been his downfall. It seemed he was not a grown man yet, for he still had in him the capability for dangerous rashness.

He had been sloppy. Hasty. It’d been arrogant of him to think his age and experiences would’ve provided him with more power. Arrogance borne out of optimism, but arrogance nonetheless.

And now he was caught, and for his mistake he would pay the price. This would not be an easily escaped encounter.

He stayed where he was, though, for the moment. He stood there and he held his ground, looking back at this version of himself who seemed nothing so much as a twisted ghost from his own past, turned into a nightmare worse than it had ever been.

He did not speak. He only stood there, and he looked, and frowned.

The other Loki slid back again, sitting straight so as to further emphasize how he towered in his throne. This was a meeting place, a way between their two minds, but he was the one who had shaped it, he was the one who had given it form.

It could’ve been anything, a place from memory or out of his own imagination. And this was what he’d chosen: a barren, angry rock, cold and imposing with no decoration or sign of life. A desolate landscape with nothing but the two of them – and a chair that existed solely so that one of them could lord over and intimidate the other.

“ _You_ thought you could replace me,” the despotic Loki remarked. “Thought that you could slide right in, and usurp me from my own mind. Take over my body and leave me floundering, falling backward with no choice but to take your place.”

Loki bit the inside of his cheek, holding back a flinch. “Yes,” he confirmed.

It was dangerous, and very, very foolhardy. But with the two of them switched, it would have confused their energies, the trails leading from their souls. Selene would find it much harder to track him.

And the other Loki would awake in his duplicate’s body, angry and violent – and before he could do anything, give himself away to Thor and the others, who would keep him safely contained and unable to cause any harm.

The other Loki smirked, giving his head a shake. “How very self-serving of you,” he drawled. Clear if unspoken: _And you think yourself so much better than I?_

“It would have been to both our benefit,” Loki pointed out. “It’d become harder for Selene to find us both.” Using persuasive measures on himself seemed a joke, but he’d try anyway. “You think this fight has nothing to do with you, but you don’t understand. She’s not nearly that discerning. She’ll crush you, if she gets the chance.”

In a fluid motion the other Loki braced his hands on the throne, pulling his legs up so that he could stand. Erect on the stone seat he now towered even further. There was a curved, sinister looking scepter in his hand. He stood poised as the dark sorcerer; the god king.

“Oh, I know all about Selene,” he announced, almost lazily. “I know far more about her than you may think.”

Loki couldn’t help the sour look he felt stealing over his expression.

“I know. That rune of listening you left on Stark’s reactor.”

The other Loki looked askance, amused, his eyebrows lifted. “You noticed that?”

“A good place to hide such a small bit of magic. The energy of the device almost concealed it. But I have an old hand, at such tricks. I spotted it almost right away.”

He wasn’t really surprised – he knew his other self had come and gone, and would probably have wanted to gain as much information as he could. Leaving the spell, he could hear everything that Stark did, everything that was said in front of him.

He couldn’t imagine how his other self had gotten close enough to plant it, but clearly he had found a way. He would have removed the rune, but he didn’t want the other Avengers to know it was there; it would only alarm them. And without revealing his purpose, he’d had no opportunity.

The other Loki got down from his throne in a swift drop, landing on both feet. Slowly he moved closer to his counterpart, trying to imbue his body language with as much menace as possible.

“You speak of doing us both a favor. How _grand_ of you,” he said, sardonically. “But doing such a thing would also merge our lifelines.”

“Not completely.”

“Enough.” The other gave a shrug that only feigned at indifference. “I wonder, what would your plan be if Selene were to find her way here after all? If she succeeded in killing one of us?”

Loki remained silent. They both knew the nature of sorcery – how this could play out. With each in the other’s body, the connection to their respective selves would be less concrete but still existent.

If Selene reached the other’s dimension first and killed his body, Loki might still be able to survive in soul alone, making his way back to oust the imposter and live on. But if the other was killed in Loki’s own body – Loki might still be able to maintain his hold over the other’s. Either way it gave him a chance.

It was an ugly trick, as good as sacrificing his counterpart to save himself. But yes, it was a contingency plan.

Loki had never at any point in his life claimed to be a fully moral man. He would do what he had to, to save his own skin and ensure he would still be able to protect the ones he loved.

Of course the would-be sacrifice did not see it that way. “You believe, somehow, that your life is worth more than mine,” he concluded. “That of the two of us, you are the superior version. The one who _deserves_ to survive.”

“I never said that,” Loki argued, quietly. “All it means is that if there was a way for only one of us to survive, I would gladly do what I must to make certain it was me. I’m sure _you_ can understand that.”

Self-preservation was something he had absolutely no doubt he and this other Loki had in common. Albeit for markedly different reasons.

The other made an amused sound, as if saying he did concede Loki’s point, but then he bared his teeth.

“Well, if you don’t think it, I must tell you that I gladly will – of you,” he declared, words both heavy and pointed. “The very sight of you sickens me. To know that we could have so much in common, and yet this is the choice you would make?”

He gestured with one hand, the other tightly gripping to his scepter. The set of his helmet low across his brow made his eyes look darker and even more narrowed than they were.

“I wondered, when I heard what I did, during that little visit to our dimension. It would be one thing, to still be young and…uneducated, in the true ways of the world.” Though the depreciative way he said it made it clear he still would’ve looked down on such a thing. “But to have known better, to have _been_ better, and then to let yourself be dragged back into the fold?”

He looked Loki up and down, distaste growing by every second. “How _pathetic_.”

A debate with the two of them would be fruitless, but Loki could not remain silent. “You are not as _wise_ and as _worldly_ as you think you are,” he stated, flat. “You’ve let your own legacy, a false idea you yourself created and planted in your mind, consume you. You may be a god compared to mortals, but don’t let you think that that really makes you a god.”

The other Loki was doing a good job of keeping his face impassive. But the anger in his eyes was growing blacker, his pale mouth pressed into a hard line.

“You are so young.” Loki almost sighed. “You’ve lived thousands of years and seen things few ever will and you think this makes you ancient and all-knowing, but you are so _young_. So full of hurt and pride, and lashing out with whichever one suits you.”

And here he stood, lecturing. He had what, twenty, thirty years more than this other man? A drop in the bucket, compared to one of their kind. Nothing.

Yet he felt he had changed so much – grown into an entirely different person. He had surrounded himself with mortals, for whom a single year could hold so much meaning, and in doing so had unknowingly brought himself to their pace.

Life felt so different, to a jaded near-immortal, when you once again learned how to find pleasure in each and every moment. A day could change everything. When something significant happened a few months went by and everyone seemed so different, so much older. It didn’t matter they hadn’t really aged. They had experienced things. They had _learned_.

And so had Loki. He had stopped being a child and become a father. Stopped being a mere lover and become a husband. Titles, names had meaning, and so did the roles which he played.

He had learned that aging, and wisdom, was not about mere numbers. It was what you did within that time.

Out loud, resolute, he concluded, “But what you are doing, the things that you seek, will never make you happy.” He lowered his eyes briefly in reminiscence. “I should know. I was you, once.”

“I don’t think you were _ever_ like me,” the other Loki snarled, defiant and far from impressed. “You couldn’t have been. _I_ could _never_ stoop so low, as to be brought down, like you have.”

He moved in closer, undaunted, so that there was less than an arm’s length between them. Neither moved physically to close that gap, but the other made a point to lean in, glaring unblinkingly, to get into his pacifist double’s space.

“I have grown far beyond that worthless role I was once cast in – mere trickster, younger brother, devoted but unloved son.” He scoffed. “I could never be shoved back in, made to somehow fit once more, inside that hollow and meaningless shell.”

“It is not without meaning,” Loki retorted, growing defensively angry in spite of himself. “Or have you really forgotten what it feels like to be loved?”

“Love!” the other exclaimed, moving back in overdone disbelief. He smiled at him insultingly, laughing. “Love is nothing. A weakness of sentiment indulged in only by fools.”

Loki’s mouth twisted, his voice coming out thick and near-menacing: “And yet if it is so powerless, why does the mere thought of it leave you running?”

He saw that his words had an effect. A brief contortion in all the other Loki’s facial muscles, a wounded flash within his eye. Little signs that nobody would see, for he hid them well. Nobody would know to look for them, or what they’d mean – save his own self.

But of course the other said nothing. He ignored what Loki said. “No,” he continued, sounding assured, “you were never like me. Maybe you came close. Maybe you had a moment there, where you did something similar, to what I have done. You had your own fall, your own brush with greatness. But you could have never come too far, to lose it all to such folly.”

“It is true,” Loki said, quietly, “that I never went so far, or did so much.” He looked back at his other self, not sure if he felt pity or contempt. “Your path has taken you further down than mine ever did. And your soul has grown uglier than mine ever was.”

He wasn’t sure what accounted for the differences. Clearly more had happened in their worlds, other than the addition of Selene. Fate worked in mysterious ways.

“And yet you would seek to exchange that soul with your own?” the other Loki asked, as much a taunting reminder as it was an actual question.

With their verbal sparring going on, his original aim had almost slipped his mind completely. But, he realized, it wasn’t too late.

“Yes. If it would serve to help, in the end.” He said almost hurriedly, “I still would, this time with your willing participation. It could still work.”

The other Loki made a thoughtful sound. “You really think that your sorceress frightens me that much? That I would willingly participate in what I as good as know is a trap?”

“The benefits I listed before are real ones,” Loki insisted. “You know it as well as I. And as to if I think the threat looming frightens you – you’ve _seen_ her.”

And Loki had fought her. That face would forever be etched in his memory. He knew what she was capable of, once – and those abilities might well now have been exceeded.

The other Loki, instead of arguing immediately, turned aside, pacing somewhat. He was frowning. But his brow was also creased with thought.

“I know you must have some idea, at least, what she’s capable of,” Loki pressed forward. He had to have sensed it, had to have known. “If you think you’ll be able to defeat her alone, you are underestimating her completely.”

The other Loki frowned more pensively at that. Loki wasn’t surprised; he had fought the Avengers at least once by now, and no doubt he had underestimated _them_.

Loki knew he once was constantly making that mistake. To think so little of what the team could do to him. After all, they were “only human”.

His other self, he thought, must be remembering that, must be reminding himself to _slow down, think more, be cautious._ Even with all his power it did no good to get carried away. He shouldn’t be dismissing his options so cavalierly if the situation was dangerous.

“And if this slattern _does_ succeed in killing one of us?” the other asked at last, carefully.

Loki lifted his chin, trying not to feel worry at the thought. “My strategy for survival could work just as well for you,” he pointed out, though no doubt his double had thought of that already. “If there is only one body left between us – we will just have to see who has the stronger will.”

He truly hoped it did not come to that. It would be a terrible, dangerous outcome.

But the other Loki smiled, maliciously pleased. “I suppose that we would.”

It sounded like he was looking forward to it. The two of them being pitted against one another. But then, he no doubt thought he must be the stronger, compared to the version of himself that had given in to the weakness of feeling and personal attachment.

“All right,” the other Loki decided, “I believe I will accept your offer, after all.”

Even though Loki was relieved, it felt a hollow victory. He looked his other self over, taking in the differences between the two of them.

“I think we may need to set some ground rules.”

The other’s face turned mocking once more. “No meddling in the other version’s life?”

“In order for this to work, no one must know what we have done,” Loki stated firmly. “Selene could be watching, and if she picks up on any odd behavior it would ruin the entire point.”

“So I would have to be on my best behavior, is what you mean.” He indicated the band on Loki’s finger, showing his distaste. “Which would mean paying my duties to whatever _family_ it is you’ve evidently acquired.”

“My wife is mortal,” Loki told him, softly. “And yes, we have children. Do _not_ be cruel to them.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a threat. He loathed the idea of leaving those he loved in the hands of this shadowed version of himself.

“I can play my part.” The other Loki gave a mild smile that came nowhere near reaching his eyes. “But what about you? Suddenly making peace on my behalf – now that would hardly be ‘blending in’ either, now would it?”

“If you mean can I do right be your reputation, then the answer is yes,” Loki responded testily. He could certainly put on a convincing show. Though he had no intention of actually hurting anyone; but that would be easily avoided. His plans always took _so_ much time to foment, after all.

“So you can be on your worst behavior – meanwhile, I will be on my best.” He said, sweetly, “I will be _ever_ so kind to my _dear_ brother and his friends.”

“I would advise you to remain the entire time on Asgard,” Loki told him, and the other flinched too hard to be able to fully hide it. Clearly he hadn’t realized he would be returning _home_. “I have made…certain allies on Earth, who would not fooled, no matter what you did.”

Steve would likely notice something amiss – but he was far more concerned about Wanda. She would be able to look into his eyes and immediately know the spirit inside did not fit with the body it was wearing.

“All right,” the other Loki conceded, stilted. “I know Asgard better, anyway. Any more _advice?_ ”

Loki hesitated. Though he had enough faith in his own capabilities, that his double would be able to read situations and fake his way through most interactions, he really should be feeding him more information if he wanted this switch to be a complete success.

But he found he didn’t want to tell him anything more. He didn’t want to give this creature personal information, secrets about his family; things he did not deserve and would not appreciate.

Standing here and talking to him he was finding to be repulsive enough. He was giving him gifts enough already, by letting him take away his family for a short time.

“No.” Loki lifted his chin, stiffly. “Let’s get this over with.”

The other Loki grinned unpleasantly and stretched out a hand, offering it. Loki hesitated but a moment before he reached to take it.

He reminded himself what he was doing this for. That it was necessary. That desperate times called on truly desperate measures.

This _had_ to work. It would buy him time, and he couldn’t think of any other way.

Bracing and resigning, he took the other Loki’s hand in his own, like fingers meeting like fingers, a squeeze exchanged between two identical palms. There was a jolt, a sensation past all description.

And then everything once more tumbled into darkness.

*

Loki’s eyes flew open. For a moment he was horribly disoriented as his mind readjusted to the sensation of having a physical body.

He drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs completely, feeling his chest expand. He held in a moment and then released it, slow.

It was dark, wherever he was. The air smelled dank. Overhead there was a harsh buzzing sound, and the sickly glow he recognized as being from cheap florescent lights.

Slowly he lifted his head and looked up.

He was in what appeared to be some large kind of basement, or maybe a tunnel. The walls were brick and concrete, their colors dirty and old. He could smell stagnant water, and dust, maybe mold. There were no windows. Perhaps he was underground?

 _A lair,_ Loki realized, filled with instinctive revulsion and dread. _I’m in a lair._ A hidden-away cavern, for him to sit and plot in, for him to crawl into after his latest defeat.

The room was featureless and long. There was no decoration to speak of, no stockpiled resources; no nearby waiting minions, either. Evidently his darker self was just getting started. That was something of a relief.

He was kneeling on the floor. Pressing one hand down for balance, he pushed himself carefully to his feet.

He was wearing heavy garments of well-traveled in leather, thick gauntlets encasing his wrists and light armor guarding his midsection. More than that, he could feel layer upon layer of protective spells woven around him, poised defensive charms set to go off with a single twitch. This Loki lived ready for a fight or a threat at any moment.

It was an exhausting way of making an existence. He did not look forward to going back to it, even for a little while.

As soon as he had that thought, it hit him: he had no way of knowing it would only be for “a little while”. He had no way of knowing how long this was going to be necessary, at all.

Once Selene was destroyed at last, he could go back and reclaim what was his. But until then he would just have to wait. Until then, his family would never be safe.

Standing, he lifted both his hands together, palms spread, and gazed down at them.

This body…it was the same as his, and yet it felt wrong. It held the same dimensions, the same shape, and yet on some level he could just tell, it was not his own.

He felt thinner, somehow, as if his skin were stretched more tightly over his bones. His counterpart, he was sure, sustained himself on magic and little else. An Asgardian mage could survive that, but who knew when last he had slept, when last he had eaten?

He could feel the gauntness to this face, the shadows under his eyes. The skin on his palms was dry and his nails were blunt and uneven, worn down by doing who knew what instead of neatly clipped short. The inside of his mouth felt dry, and taut, like his tongue was too thick, and his gums had receded against his teeth.

When he moved, his limbs were – not stiff, exactly. They _moved_ just fine. And still something felt wrong with his range of motion. Off. Like he didn’t seem entirely a flesh and blood creature anymore. Like he was something other than a man.

Or something less.

Loki looked around at the damp and empty, lonely pit. He thought of his home, where waited a soft bed and a feast at every meal, rooms full of finery and all his most beloved things, the embrace of his wife and the laughter of his children.

But they were not his to enjoy, now. Now they belonged to his unpleasant, bitter counterpart. It was all his to partake of as he would.

And in exchange, all Loki had now was the life that had belonged to _him_.

*

Loki’s eyes opened slowly, not moving as he regained the feeling of physical sensation – his spiritual essence one more taking ownership of arms and legs, of fingers and toes.

He kept his eyes half-lidded, unaccustomed to the bright, warm sunlight filtering into the room. He was lying in an expanse of bed, it seemed, wrapped in fine linens that felt instinctively good against his naked skin, pillows soft beneath his head and back.

He didn’t need to look around to know he was in a room of the palace – probably the room he’d had as his own once, even. The space felt large, and well-furnished.

So this was the life his other was enjoying for himself back on Asgard, he hazily thought. His loyalties bought again by trinkets and finery, living as a pampered pet inside a gilded cage. Willing to forget his anger, his indignation if it meant he could dine on luxuries and surround himself in finery; ignoring how they used him one moment and neglected him the next, and pretending he never knew what they really thought of him. All in the name of _comfort_.

His internal monologue of coldblooded, self-righteous denunciation against his counterpart was cut short as he felt something move against him.

And then Loki came perilously close to giving a squawk, as a hand caressed the center of his chest and left it there, a woman’s body nuzzling against his with one leg thrown around him.

He turned his head to his right, unnerved, barely able to make out a sleepy face between tangled tresses of long dark brown hair.

“Mmm. Good morning, handsome,” she murmured, affectionately. Before Loki could pull away she leaned in enough to press his cheek with a kiss.

Loki felt comically frozen, his outrage at being so carelessly and possessively touched kept at bay by his sheer bemusement at being unexpectedly placed in this situation.

It was a good thing, too. Before Loki could have a chance to throw the harlot out of his bed, wrenching her by the hair as he made clear in loud tones his displeasure at her audacity, he remembered: this was, after all, “his wife”. As such he was to find her presence expected and, he supposed, was meant to treat her with modicum of respect.

“Good morning, darling,” Loki managed to return, disguising his inability to put emotion in his voice by keeping it low and breathy.

He lay where he was, arms spread on either side, as the woman pressed against him closer. A smile on her lips she rested her head on the space between his breast and shoulder, eyes closing as she snuggled him.

She made another happy sound, glancing to him like a sleepy housecat. “You know, I would really like to thank you again for last night.” She sighed, rolling over more so she was practically lying on top of him. “Sometimes it feels like it’s been awhile since we’ve done something special just…because, y’know?”

If he hadn’t known she was mortal on sight he certainly would’ve gathered it from her uncouth patterns of speech. He looked on in dismay as she continued touching him, tossing her hair.

A mere _mortal_. Unbelievable. One thing for Thor to have somehow grown infatuated with one, enough to keep her, but then his other self had to go and follow suit? He couldn’t begin to fathom it.

“Loki?” She focused a bit, touching his forehead. “You’re being awfully quiet.”

He smiled at her. _Infatuation_ was not something he’d had to fake for quite a while, but he supposed he pulled it off, for she didn’t pull away from him. “Oh, it’s nothing. I was merely lost in thought, my sweet.”

“You’re not still worrying about Selene?” she guessed, concerned. Sitting up, her face hovered over his.

“For the moment, no. I’ve put her out of my mind entirely.” He stroked her cheek. “How can I think of anything else, when I am here with you?”

She giggled, her hand briefly over his. “Unless you’re up for round two, I think I’m gonna get dressed now.”

It took him a second to translate what she was saying. He suppressed his horror. “I am, ah, still a bit worn out. Perhaps later.”

She nodded, and climbed out of bed. Rather than averting his eyes he watched her dispassionately. Not examining her, for that would take more interest than he had currently. More he was taking stock of her presence.

She was not _ugly_ – he would give her that much. But he had always supposed if he was to be burdened with a wife, he might as well contrive to get a pretty one.

There was, he thought, something vaguely familiar about her. He squinted, examining her profile as she moved, but the answer didn’t spring to mind. Oh, well. He’d figure it out later, maybe.

Turning away he sat up a bit, taking in the room. Immediately he saw the melted candles, the drying and smeared pattern on the floor. He recognized the signs and workings of this particular type of spell. _Ah_ ; so that was how he his counterpart had done it. He’d used the carnal energy created by their coupling to channel the necessary forces.

The woman, he had no doubt, was oblivious to what had really happened. How exactly she had been used. It gave him a smug feeling to wonder, how she would feel about her beloved husband if she found out? He surmised she would probably take it rather poorly.

But he remained silent. She dressed, gathered her remaining belongings, and kissed him again, promising to see him later. And then she left.

Loki dropped his head and lay back down again for a moment, fully absorbing the strange and alien feel of a mattress against his back. How long had it been since he’d slept in a bed proper?

He didn’t linger long. Swiftly he got up, first poking a bit about the room to see if there was anything of interest to find, anything major that he wouldn’t be expecting. There were quite a few mementos his other self must have collected after his reintegration, for he knew not of their significance – but he ignored them, indifferent.

He dressed, after taking a moment to examine the contents of the wardrobe and resign himself to the frivolous trappings of royalty. He looked over his new body as he did, checking for differences. It was not as wiry as his own, not as lean – though the muscles were still hard, and everything else was where he remembered it. There was a long thin scar that ran on the left side of his midsection; the skin was soft and pearly under his hand. He wondered at that his other self hadn’t had it erased, as he did using his magic to all his scars.

As to his magic: he could feel it, rolling under the surface, there to be touched and mastered as it always was. It shied a bit when he reached for it, fraying, bucking away like an anxious horse. It knew the one who called it was not entirely right, and there was a slight disconnect due to the mismatch between body and soul. But he could still marshal it, pressing it into shape if he needed. It would obey.

Finished clothing himself Loki found a mirror and looked to it. There was more color in his always pale skin, his hair well-groomed. He came to the conclusion that this was the body of one who trained himself with rigorous physical activity, and well – but still enjoyed the life of a scholarly prince.

 _Weak,_ Loki concluded, sneering mentally as he looked to his hands. _Soft._

But it was what he had, for the time being. He would simply have to make do.

Leaving the chamber at last he walked down the hallway, no present aim in mind. He passed a few servants and marveled when they didn’t cower at the sight of him, didn’t stare at him sideways or give looks of disgust. In fact, they barely seemed to register his presence.

He made his way to an empty atrium and turned, glancing around, trying idly to decide which direction to be headed. When all of a sudden he heard a curious sound – a small pair of pattering feet.

“Father!” Loki spun around sharply and stared. The boy was young, able to speak and be left to his own devices, but nowhere near an adolescent. He ran right to him and seized his hand with both his own, excited. “There you are! You missed breakfast.”

Eyes wide, tongue wooden, Loki said simply the first thing that popped into his head. “I wasn’t hungry.”

The boy beamed up at him, undeterred. His cheeks were rosy and round, despite the natural narrowness of his face. Black hair had been carefully combed back by someone, but there were a few mussy strands that had already worked loose no doubt from play.

His eyes were green. And they shined with innocence and laughter. The happy naiveté of youth.

 _‘We have children,’_ the other Loki had said. But oh, that had done nothing to prepare him for _this._ It was impossible to ignore that the boy looked just like him.

The way he had looked once, when he was young, and foolish, and thought love was real.

Two small hands clinging to Loki’s much larger one, the child tugged at him, trying to urge him along.

“Walk with me, Father,” he pleaded expectantly, expression as bright as anything. “Come play!”

A strong feeling rose up in Loki, like a great beast lifting its head to roar. It overwhelmed him, filling his belly and his lungs and making every muscle taut. He didn’t know quite what it was – he named it repulsion but it felt, strangely, much more like fear.

He yanked his hand back as if the brat had burned him.

The boy gaped up at him, face falling, startled. “Father…?” His voice became wondering, timid.

He felt such an urge to punt the child into a wall. He beat it back, shoved it down. Swallowed the scream that was bubbling up, knowing not why he wanted to, only that if he did it would scrape his throat raw.

“I have things to do,” he told the boy shortly, blunt. “Go find someone else to keep you occupied.”

The boy’s face crumbled with wounded dismay. His eyes filled with hurt.

And Loki remembered something, so strongly, and so completely forgotten it wasn’t like it was a mere memory, but a scene playing right out before his very eyes.

He was looking up, up, up at Odin, who seemed so tall to him, so vast and grand. Behind his beard his face was grave but he was smiling. Loki’s hand – it was so small – fit completely inside his, and he remembered _wanting_ …

Violently Loki shut it down, pushed it away, ripped it the best he could from his very mind. There was something sour and sick in his stomach. He walked away, fingers curled tight into fists.

He did not look back. He moved quickly, to keep his body from trembling.


	6. Absorption

It took nearly a week for the Avengers to be able to talk about what they’d experienced with one another.

Bruce hadn’t really expected it to be that way. Certainly, most of the team had had a hard enough time staying _quiet_ while they were in there with the other Avengers. Once the door was shut behind them he had held his breath, waiting for a flurry of conversation to emerge.

Instead…nothing. Silence. Tensed muscles and unreadable faces and low, slowly steadied breathing. People glanced at each other and then quickly looked away again.

There was a vibration from the other side of the still nearby door, and the lights overhead in the Helicarrier flickered again. Obviously a result of the other team, leaving the same way they had come.

But no one stated as much out loud. No one commented on it. The silence lingered for maybe half a minute more and then, as if by some hidden signal, one by one they parted and went off in other directions.

Tony went first; broke away from the pack in a tight spin and stalked off down the hallway in a direction that gave them his back, his fists held tight. Rogers made a sound that could have been either weariness or disappointment – or maybe he was just releasing his breath – and then seemed to purposefully pick the path diametrically opposite to Tony’s.

Thor didn’t look at anyone and his body language was unnatural as he trailed off quietly all alone.

Finally, it was just Bruce – and the two SHIELD agents. He rubbed his hands together nervously, feeling oddly like his feet were stuck to the floor.

Agents Barton and Romanov exchanged a look. To him it seemed expressionless, calculating, but who knew what it really meant to them. Empty as they could be on the surface, he was coming to understand that both could be a pretty deep well.

Barton left first, going back towards the command deck and where Fury no doubt waited.

Natasha lingered a moment more. She looked to Bruce silently, questioning.

After a beat he managed a faint smile, and a shrug. Though he couldn’t put the question in her eyes into words, exactly, it seemed like the right response.

It seemed to satisfy her, anyway, because she nodded and then went after her partner.

After a minute or two of internal reflection, Bruce went to the lab space, and hid there until it was time to go.

They went back to the tower. And then after that…it would be wrong to say that they ‘avoided’ each other, precisely. There was eye contact. People still crossed paths. But it was noticeable that conversations were shorter, and remained fixed on airy topics that were unimportant. No one spoke a word to bring up Loki, or Selene, or other dimensions, or anything that happened during the incident on the Helicarrier.

At least, no one said anything to Bruce. Who knew; maybe some of the others were comparing notes about it when they weren’t in front of him. He didn’t like to assume things – but it never would have surprised him to find out he was locked out of the loop.

He had spent too much time going to a lot of effort to make himself that way. Even with his “condition” more or less under control now…it had become habitual. Being around people, being crowded, it made him nervous. His social skills had become pretty well eroded. And his nonverbal barrier had become effectively shut to “off”.

He knew that SHIELD was taking official action now, making the hunt for Selene a top priority alongside Loki. So at some point, somebody must have filled Fury in.

No doubt not with enough details to make the Director satisfied. He had wanted the six of them thoroughly “debriefed” on what they had seen and heard – basically, he wanted them individually interrogated on how their conversation with these other Avengers had gone down, to the last word.

From the missions that’d been run so far together, Bruce had gotten used to filling out incident reports for SHIELD – it was brief enough, and besides he was used to paperwork from his professional career (second only to bureaucracy, academia existed to kill trees). It was an easy way to help keep them from breathing down his neck. But this was different.

He wasn’t sure what the others did, when the ‘request’ came for them. The two agents probably went without a second thought. Rogers was a soldier, and used to following orders, but he’d made little secret of the fact he had his doubts these days about who he was getting them from, so who knew – maybe he’d been a little more concise than he needed to be. Tony _absolutely_ must’ve left things out, and probably lied blatantly and been openly defiant while he was at it. Thor…it was really hard to guess which side of the line Thor fell on, but considering his brother was involved, well, maybe he’d fudged a few of the details too.

Bruce flat-out refused to sit down for any questioning.

When the hints and passive-aggressive wording failed, they must’ve gotten tired of badgering him impersonally. Perhaps Fury had something better to do, though, because he sent Hill to do the glowering in his place.

Bruce was in the lab, seated in front of a magnifier, taking a look at an artificial compound Tony had been tinkering with and asked him for his opinion on. Hill came up behind him, the only sound a perfunctory introduction from JARVIS, hands clasped behind her back. Bruce didn’t look up.

“Doctor Banner,” she greeted, her usual cold and brusque intonation making even his own name somehow sound like an accusation; “We’ve been trying to get in contact with you several times over the last forty-eight hours.”

“I know,” he told her, mild. “Of course I do.”

“Good.” Folding her arms her expression became openly disapproving, with an air of sarcasm. “Because considering the silence we’ve received in response from your end, frankly we weren’t quite sure.”

“What, did you think Stark had gone through and deleted my emails?” There was a beat, and he could just glance Hill’s expression out of the corner of his vision. He felt forced to reconsider. “Okay; that _does_ sound like something Tony would do. Maybe.  But I can guarantee you that this time he didn’t.”

He turned in his chair, putting on his glasses as he flipped through printed pages of readouts, made note of something and then went back to adjust a setting on the magnifier’s side.

He continued, murmuring, “No, Agent Hill…my lack of response has been entirely purposeful. Sorry if there’s been any misunderstanding. But I’m happy to clear that up.”

Hill’s scowl was mostly contained in her eyes. The rest of her face was too rigid. “It’s not as if we’re asking a lot of you.”

“Well, there’s asking ‘a lot’, and then…” Bruce trailed off with a shrug, pulling a musing face. He didn’t mention tranquilizers, armed escorts, losing years of his life to an international chase out of the fear of being turned into a guinea pig. He didn’t mention circular plexiglas prisons.

Hill was smart – he figured she could read between the lines.

And it looked like her posture had just grown a hair stiffer, so he was probably right. “So yes, while on the grand scale of things what you’re asking now is admittedly not _too_ much of an inconvenience, I still don’t plan on helping you.”

The agent got her hackles up. “You know you really shouldn’t have a choice,” she snapped, just shy of a threat.

Her mistake. Even people who knew about the Other Guy tended to underestimate him; the scientist side looked so unassuming. But this was one game he definitely knew how to play.

Slowly Bruce turned to look over his shoulder, moving his neck enough so his eyes and his brow would be visible above the rigid lines of his back, and not much else. He took off his glasses, purposefully. Narrowed his gaze.

And held a stare at her, unblinking, until the high-ranking SHIELD agent who had faced down aliens, explosions and monsters felt compelled to draw a slightly uncertain breath.

As soon as he had proof he’d rattled her, Bruce said coldly, “What are you going to do? Fire me?”

There was no response to that, and Hill knew it. She mustered up an indignant glare and lifted her head.

The reverberation of his pointed statement still hanging, Bruce turned his back to her, pretending he’d forgotten she was even there, until she took the hint and stormed out. He felt the corner of his mouth twist of its own accord into a sneer.

So, there was some relatively brief talking over what had happened with the supervisors at SHIELD. But days went by before any of the team apparently felt up to talking about it with each other.

Bruce didn’t know who broke the silence in general. But he knew Tony was the first to do it with him.

Maybe they were both the same thing – Stark had the habit of breaking barriers, setting a precedent, whether he meant to or not.

He’d been in the lab yet again, this time working on a project of his own, setting up equipment and running data, when Tony wandered in with his hands in his pockets and acting far too nonchalant to have not had something on his mind.

Bruce humored him, waiting, responding to whatever careless comments Tony chose to make for the first five minutes or so. Until finally the other man stopped, leaned against a piece of equipment with one arm, glanced at the floor and cleared his throat.

“You know,” he began softly, probably sounding to anyone else like this was coming on at random, “I realize I can possibly come as a bit – intrusive, at times…”

“You?” Bruce couldn’t help ribbing him a little. “What, the guy who gave me a smartphone with all my contacts already set up, and _then_ hacked it twice because he thought my ringtones weren’t whimsical enough?”

“How do you _not_ have ‘She Blinded Me With Science’ on there already? Come on!” Tony jumped at the bait, but his tone went back to somber soon enough. “Okay, but. Bruce I’m…I’m _trying_ to be serious here, all right? Humor me.”

“I’m listening,” Bruce said with complete earnest.

“Thank you. It’s just…I want you to know – I want you to _understand_ , if it’s not understood already – if you ever start to feel like, you need some time away, or some more of your own space, you _can_ tell me that.” His uneven speech was peppered with spontaneous hand gestures. “I’m not saying you _have_ to. But you can always talk to me.”

Bruce spun the chair all the way around so they were facing one another. His hands rested limply in his lap. “You’re worried that I’m going to leave one day. Run off and try to disappear again, without telling any of you.” He said the most obvious, “Like the other dimension’s version of me does.”

Tony pressed his mouth together, struggling for the words he wanted to use. “Me out of all people, I know that when you’re used to being on your own, it can be tempting to go back to that.”

He couldn’t keep eye contact while he said that. Bruce wasn’t sure whether or not he should speak.

“Yeah,” he finally offered, quiet but fully understanding.

Tony’s gaze bounced back to his, shaking it off and replacing the gloom with intense kinetic fire. “But you aren’t alone anymore, Bruce. I don’t want to get all afterschool special on you, but you’re _not_. You’ve got me in your corner, and the other guys too, even.”

He walked closer, looking down at him compellingly, almost pleading.

“There’s no problem left that you have to try and tackle all your own.”

Bruce waited a few seconds to let that clear the air before he responded. “You know that they aren’t necessarily our future, right?” he asked emphatically. “Just because they’re a lot like us, and are from further down the timeline, doesn’t mean that we’re looking at a glimpse of what’s to come.”

“I _know_ that. If anything, I’m convinced that they can’t possibly be our future, because some of the things…” Tony trailed off, frustrated. “But that’s not the point. There’s still a lot of similarity between us and them, you can’t deny that. And it’d be reckless not try and plan ahead because of that.”

“Yeah. Being reckless and without forethought. So unlike you,” Bruce said dryly.

“All I’m trying to say is…I don’t want you to have to run off again if you don’t have to,” Tony insisted. He paused, voice changing. “I don’t want you to run away from us.”

 _Do you think my problems are over?_ Bruce thought. _They’re never going to be over._

No. He couldn’t promise that one day he wasn’t going to want to go into the wilderness again, if not because he was having problems with control, then because he had to relearn how to just _be_ with himself for a while. If anything he was sure that day would come again, when he’d want to be alone. He only thought – hoped – it wasn’t going to have to be anytime soon.

But none of that was what Tony wanted or needed to hear. Instead, he smiled back at his friend as he got to his feet, trying to be reassuring.

“I know what you’re trying to say, Tony. I do. And I promise that if anything like that does happen, I’ll…I’ll at least try to talk to you first.” He meant that, even.

Instantly Tony grinned, maybe relieved as much as anything that the conversation was over. He clapped a hand to Bruce’s shoulder. “Thank you. That’s good. That’s all I needed to hear.”

Just like that the mood lightened, and they went to work dissecting something mechanical, trading observations and banter all the way. But Tony acted, oh so subtly, like he’d had a load lifted off him.

Bruce realized now that what they had seen had been directly addressed, he felt lighter as well.

Slowly, gradually, everyone worked up the nerve to broach the subject. It became okay to talk about it. Their encounter with staring face-to-face with a version of the team from another dimension, no longer felt like they were all pretending it just hadn’t happened.

It came up in the most innocuous of ways. One afternoon Bruce crossed paths with Natasha in the elevator – he was on his way down, looking to maybe scrounge up a sandwich; she was on her way up, towel draped across her shoulders, skin glistening from a workout.

They exchanged a nod and stood at separate ends of the car, and didn’t speak. Easy silence was their version of comfortable.

It was an improvement that the agent didn’t feel she had to look around every time they ended up in close quarters; she felt safe enough to rely on the escape routes she had already memorized.

Bruce glanced at the sweaty locks clinging to the base of her neck and almost without thinking about it, recalling her double he said, “You looked pretty good with the longer hair.”

She gave an odd but still gracious smile. “Thanks.” She looked ahead, musingly remarking, “I used to wear it that long, actually. Had to cut it after an injury. I decided this was more practical.”

“Yeah, makes sense.” The elevator hummed at them. “You ever think you might grow it back out?”

“Maybe.” She didn’t sound overly invested either way. The door dinged. “This your stop?”

“Yeah, this is me.” He sidled out with a faint smile and a not entirely awkward wave. “Well, see you around.”

She smiled back at him, her eyes bright in that mysterious way. Like she had to go through life thinking everything was a little bit funny just to make the ends meet. “Bye.”

A few days later – more than a month after the actual meeting had taken place, now – Bruce found himself sitting in the living room, listening to Tony and Captain Rogers trade barbs over something, when somehow the subject once more came up.

They talked around it a bit, the three of them comparing notes from their perspectives, filling in different details they’d observed.

“The other Thor was wearing a wedding ring,” Rogers put in suddenly, subdued. “Did either of you notice?”

“No.” Bruce was surprised. “It didn’t occur to me to look.”

Tony took a drink from the glass he was holding, ice cubes clinking as he thought. “Huh. Well. Guess that means everything works out for him and Dr. Foster in at least one version.”

“That can’t be assumed.” Rogers shifted his weight on the couch, looking at him. “Vikings had the wedding band custom too. I don’t know if Asgardians do as well, but…”

“They might,” Bruce finished for him. “All it means is we know for sure thatThor must be married. It might not be to their universe’s Jane Foster.”

Tony grimaced begrudgingly. “I guess being king and all, having to get hitched would’ve been one of his royal duties. I’m sure there was no shortage to the line of fair-haired maids looking to become queen of the Space Slavs.”

“He might even have a child by now,” Rogers realized. “Or more than that.”

“That is…so weird to think about.” Bruce rubbed his forehead, laughing quietly.

None of them were that young, exactly, Thor the least of all. But still, he couldn’t think of a group comprised of individuals _less_ ready to settle down and have families. Picturing any of them married, raising kids, having even that much of a normal life…it was bizarre.

“I didn’t see a wedding band on my other self’s finger, or yours either, Stark,” Rogers continued. “Of course, mine was wearing gloves.”

“Is that something you’re in the habit of checking for, Captain Rose Ceremony?” The taunt came as he took another drink.

“Hey, knock it off.” The reply wasn’t as defensive as it could have been. “I just have an eye for details. Anyway, I don’t know if it means anything. Not every man wears a ring.”

“But you would, right?” Tony moved back towards the bar for a refill – silently gesturing if Bruce wanted anything, only to be met with a wave of a hand in polite refusal. “I’ll bet you get stars and especially frilly stripes in your eyes just thinking about it.”

“I’ll bet you’re the type who never would,” Rogers came back, without missing a beat. “For all we know, your other self is now happily married to the now Ms. Pepper Potts-Stark.”

“Now there’s the dream,” Bruce joined in easily. “Mansion surrounded by a white picket security fence, sprawling beachfront lawn, two kids, and a robot dog.”

Tony winced so hard he almost knocked over a bottle. “I don’t think so.” He vehemently shook his head.

“I’m going to tell her you said that,” Bruce threatened.

“What’s the matter?” Rogers’s question sounded genuine. “Don’t consider yourself the marrying type?”

“I – I don’t know.” It was Tony who sounded defensive now, and strangely winded. “I certainly never did before, and now…” He shook his head like he was clearing it, closing off. “I don’t think that far ahead.”

“I’m kind of surprised no one ended up grilling them about that,” Bruce remarked, considering how many questions had gotten thrown around in that interlude. “Relationship statuses.”

The captain gave him a disapproving frown. “It could hardly be considered important enough. We were there to talk about something concerning the fate of both our worlds.”

“So it didn’t occur to you.” Tony finished filling his glass, raising eyebrows with a smirk. “And as for me…well, what does it matter? It’s not like they’re really _us_. So what good does it to know?”

“Good to know what, Son of Howard?”

Thor came into the room, clad in what Bruce supposed could be called his ‘dress-down’ armor. He had seen Thor only a few times in normal clothes, and the effect was always odd.

Actually he had only seen Thor a few times, period, over this latest stretch. It was hard to put the Asgardian down all the way, but between his problems with Dr. Foster and everything going on with Loki, maybe it was understandable if he was a bit disheartened. He’d been keeping more to himself.

Rogers moved over on the couch and Bruce offered a smile, but Thor for the moment only gestured in response and preferred to remain standing.

“Whether it would’ve made any difference if we had asked those guys from the other world if they were still seeing the same people,” Tony filled him in succinctly. “Or, y’know. What love lives if any they were having at all.”

“Ah.” Thor’s voice came a little stilted as he mulled it over. “Interesting thought, but…good that we did not think to do so, by my reckoning. It would worry me over whether or not it could be considered prophecy. And, if the news were disheartening, I would…prefer not to know.”

Bruce squeezed his hands together as, unbidden, he thought suddenly of Betty.

Even with no way of knowing what things might have happened in the other life, he was sure his own news could be nothing positive on that score. He could understand Thor’s sentiment completely.

“If I did care to ask, it would not have been for myself,” Thor continued. “It would have been for my brother. The other Loki clearly leads a,” his voice faltered, “a much different life.”

Tony almost did an out-and-out spit-take. “Get out. Don’t tell me that you’d think he-”

“Oh no,” Rogers interrupted him, almost grim. “I wasn’t going to mention it because it didn’t seem important, but yeah. I noticed _he_ had a ring on, too.”

“As did I,” Thor concurred, soft. “It did make me wonder. Even before his fall from honor, it had been a long time since I’d known Loki to have so much as a dalliance. Of course, my brother always kept his affairs to himself, but…”

“If he was _that_ interested in somebody, you would know,” Rogers finished understandingly. “So, there’s no likely candidate for a sweetheart back on Asgard.”

Thor shook his head slowly. “No. But, perhaps I assume too much in thinking Loki married out of affection. If he is prince once more, then even he has responsibilities.”

His every word came gradually. Bruce couldn’t tell if it was just painful for Thor to think about a saner, respectable Loki, or if it had been so long since he was anything of the sort it was legitimately hard for him to imagine.

“And then some poor well-connected Asgardian lady drew the universe’s shortest straw.” Tony’s expression was of overpowering disbelief tinged with horror. “God. I can’t even think of it. Your brother inflicts enough terror on complete strangers; I don’t even want to think about what he’d do to a wife-”

He cut himself off though, with an anxious sidelong look at Thor, seeming to remember too late that smack-talking Loki around his sibling was not always so well-received.

Thor’s face was stony and dejected, however, not angry. “Indeed,” he agreed. “The face this other showed when we were in conference reminded me much of the Loki that once was. But there is no way to tell how much of it may have been a mask.”

None of them seemed to know what to say to that. After a beat of silence Rogers decided to try.

“It did look like he was working with the other team with no problem, Thor. They’ve had more time over there. Maybe he really has changed.”

“Maybe,” Thor managed, heavy, “but-”

Of course at that very moment an alarm went off. Bruce took a moment to still his inner startle response (he could feel the Other Guy tremble, then settle back down into slumber) while Thor and Rogers made exclamations and looked towards the ceiling.

“Whoops, okay.” Tony spoke loudly over the sound, summoning a holographic keyboard and screen midair in front of him. “Hey, it’s okay guys. It’s just a little program I cooked up – you know, tied into a couple early warning systems worldwide, army, air force, national weather service. This way, instead of having to wait for a phone call, we get to be among the first to know if there’s any major bad guy-”

His triumphant spiel was cut off instantly as a few blurred video clips popped up and started playing, scenes of grainy chaos interspaced with green energy blasts, and in the center of them a SHIELD headshot of Loki outlined in red, with the big caption of “ _THREAT IDENTIFIED._ ”

“For fuck’s sake, _really?_ ” Tony swore. “Are you the god of mischief or of horribly inappropriate timing?”

Thor’s mouth twitched grimly. But he spoke not a word as he lifted an arm, summoning Mjolnir.

Rogers was already poised at the threshold. “I’ll go suit up and see if I can find the others,” he said, resolute. “Doctor, did you think you wanted to come along this time?”

“Oh yes.” Bruce’s voice was quiet, but inside he felt muscles begin to roll. The Other Guy _remembered_ Loki. “I mean, I might as well.”

Tony stepped back from his hologram, giving it a distasteful look.

“Well. Okay then.” He sounded not so much excited, and a lot more resigned. “Guess we’re doing this.”

*

Clint realized he couldn’t seem to make up his mind whether he was really surprised or not, that Loki had appeared again and gone straight back to his old tricks.

On the one hand, it could’ve been supposed this whole mess with there being someone out there after his life would’ve had him keeping his head down, otherwise preoccupied.

But on the other hand, it was Loki. You could never predict how he would think. What he would do. And it’d been awhile since they’d seen him last – maybe that was the time he needed to lick his wounds and hatch up a new scheme.

The only thing Clint became sure of the more he thought on it, was that he didn’t care.

It wasn’t important if he was ‘surprised’ or not, not really. What mattered was that Loki was a threat.

What mattered was that Clint wanted to take him down, fast and hard. Before that bastard could do whatever he was trying to do.

Because another thing he could be sure of – it wasn’t good, whatever it was.

The Asgardian hadn’t even bothered to go very _far_. He was mixing it up, making a scene right outside of the American Museum of Natural History – which couldn’t but come across as _insultingly_ close to the team’s own front doors. The sane, expected course of action would be to head for the hills, but of course Loki hadn’t done that.

 _‘Look’,_ he was good as saying; _‘look how little respect for you I have, how not intimidated I am by your powers. New York is supposed to be yours, your home ground, your territory, and here I am once more to attack it.’_

Of course it was a show – everything always was, with Loki, in part if not in full.

That didn’t mean the blow didn’t sting, though.

And Clint tried not to think about the fact that Loki might’ve used some information he’d gleaned off of the agent to get around; that when he’d been his brainwashed servant, one of the things Clint had helpfully pointed out to him were all the tunnels and hidden by-ways in such a big metropolitan city…

 _Get your head in the game,_ he ordered himself, shortly. _Being a self-pitying sad sack isn’t going to stop him._

Loki had appeared in the museum’s main atrium only half an hour before closing, when fortunately there weren’t that many people left and the few visitors remaining had unsurprisingly quickly exited the building once he’d gotten going. The museum’s security had managed to distract him long enough for armed SHIELD agents to arrive, at which point they were able to herd him outside the building proper.

Now it was up to the team to swoop in and land the final blow, hopefully capturing Loki so that this could end.

Clint thought that he wouldn’t mind if they had to end it a different way – Fury had no compunction about using the term “by any means necessary”. Loki had a bad habit of putting civilian lives at risk. This kind of thing could _not_ be allowed to keep happening.

No, Clint thought coldly as he checked the arrowheads loaded into his quiver and gripped his bow; he wouldn’t mind dealing that kind of end to Loki _at all_.

But first thing’s first. They had to live through another fight.

When they finally got there Loki had taken a stance up on the street outside the front entrance to the museum. The NYPD had set up barricades – not that it was necessary, as the visible damage and mayhem Loki had caused was more than enough to deter even New Yorkers.

The road and sidewalk around Loki was cracked and shattered by long deep furrows. There were plumes of smoke rising from a few potholes. What was hopefully a parked car had been thrown hood-first into a fire hydrant, which was still gushing up with a fountain of water. The air was streaked with soot.

Loki was waiting for them with an unfeeling smile on his face, eyes bright and hands lifted to continue his attack.

 _“Should we all rush him at once?”_ Stark cracked, probably hoping Loki would hear him. _“Or do we want to draw straws?”_

“Always so proud, Man of Iron,” Loki retorted smoothly, voice pitched in an airy manner. “Don’t get ahead of yourself – you won’t find dealing with me this time so easy.”

And with that the only thing they got even close to a warning, Loki gestured – a wisp of green magic left his fingers and then there were sparks. The cracked asphalt and concrete that surrounded them warped and shifted, rising up, and formed themselves into the shapes of humanoid figures.

 _“Aw, hell,”_ Stark sighed, hovering a few feet from the ground, head turning as he took in the dozens of crumbly rock men that now surrounded them.

Natasha loaded up one of her pistols. “This is gonna suck,” she observed, sagely.

The golem creatures didn’t speak. They merely rushed to attack, every movement resonating with the sound of rough stone grinding against itself.

Stark blasted the first few out of the way with his repulsors before one detached its arm and threw the resulting shower of large rocks at him, knocking him out of the air with a pained grunt. Natasha stood with feet apart and fired off a few rounds, which didn’t seem to do any good – at the last possible second she dropped into a forward tuck and rolled out of the way to safety. Captain Rogers managed to hold his ground, throwing his shield to knock apart one opponent, only to be tackled from behind by another.

Thor used a lightning strike only to discover it had no effect on creatures made out of stones. He swung his hammer in a whirling circle, destroying two, then used his bare hands to start taking apart the rest.

The Hulk roared, angrily seizing the car that’d been crashed into the fire hydrant and using it to start bashing at just about everything that moved and wasn’t an Avenger.

“Pathetic,” Loki sneered at them, laughing. “Is that really the best you can do?”

Clint had taken a vantage point halfway up the statuesque carvings of the front steps. Surveying the scene quickly, he took stock and fired an arrow into what would have been the skull of one several feet away.

Whistling through the air, flying past several other things and unerringly reaching its target, the steel-tipped arrow went straight through, leaving a pretty hole. But it had absolutely no effect.

 _“It’s no good, Hawkeye!”_ Rogers was still on his back on the ground, speaking on the comm through gritted teeth as he wrestled with the pile of moving rocks trying to pin him. _“There things aren’t human and don’t feel pain!”_

 _“The Captain’s right, Clint,”_ Natasha chimed in.

Acting solely on the defensive, she flipped and pirouetted out of the reach of her attackers. Finally gaining the higher ground by climbing on top of a trash can, she lunged off of it straight into the torso of a rock creature, tackling it hard to the ground.

_“The only way to stop them is to destroy them completely.”_

“Right,” Clint muttered, filing that under ‘so noted’. He looked around to see if anyone needed a hand, but for now Natasha was holding her own, and Thor and the Hulk hadn’t needed any aid to begin with.

With a searing blast Stark had finally managed to free himself. He took a few unsteady steps to one side as he reentered the fight, but once he recovered he ran over to help Rogers with his problem.

“Guess that just leaves you and me,” Clint said, addressing Loki even though his voice wasn’t loud enough. He loaded up an exploding arrow.

Keeping it on hand he leapt down from his perch, shoulders raised as he barreled his way across the makeshift battleground, dodging and sidestepping attacks all the way. Relying on his other senses to keep him aware of his surroundings, he barely took his eyes off Loki.

Loki watched him, face impassive.

“You never _did_ like me, did you, Hawkeye?” he noted almost languidly, flipping a dagger around in his hand as he readied it for a throw.

“You got one thing right, you son of a bitch.” Clint stopped in front of him, in seeming open defiance of how it made him the perfect target, and took his shot.

Loki threw his knife with one hand – Clint ducked and it just barely grazed his bicep – and caught the arrow with the other. Frowning he turned it around and looked at the tip.

His eyes widened a bit as he saw the little flashing light on the end. “Oh.”

Clint expected a barb about trying the same trick twice. But the thought didn’t seem to occur to Loki. Quickly, almost too fast to even be seen, he snapped the shaft between his hands. Letting the other pieces fall to the ground he threw the miniature bomb overhead, landing it squarely between the Hulk and Thor.

The blast went off – Thor was heard to give a surprised shout, cape flaring, but then sight of him was lost in the rubble.

The Hulk reacted like it’d been hit by a spitball: only left in the wake unharmed and _incredibly_ annoyed. Turning sharply, green eyes fixed on Loki, teeth bared as it let loose with an irate snarl.

 _“Puny god!”_ Raising both fists he smashed them into the street in a gorilla-like show of dominance. Except gorillas didn’t normally leave behind giant holes in the ground where they hit.

Building himself up, Hulk charged at Loki, roaring.

_“Puny god no hurt Hulk’s friends!”_

Loki might’ve typically acted like he had no respect for anything, but honestly, staring down a massive green freight train that had, on a previous occasion, been known to reduce him to little more than a smear on the floor, Clint certainly expected him to _at least_ flinch a little.

Loki braced himself, staring up at the Hulk. His face was mostly unreadable – but there was no spark of instinctive panic in his eyes.

Instead he waited, letting the Hulk get closer and closer, until the monster was practically on top of him…and then he brought both hands together before his face, clapping as he dispersed a wave of magic that shined like the Northern Lights.

Swept up by a teleportation spell, the Hulk made a confused sound, and then he vanished.

In the blink of an eye, though, he reappeared – at the other end of the street, facing the opposite direction, and several feet off the ground as he was aimed into a copse of trees at the entrance to Central Park. Crying out in alarm, Hulk spun his arms like pinwheels, but to no avail; it was impossible to redirect his momentum.

With full force he crashed into the trees, burying himself in the ground and leaving an impressive furrow in his wake, disappearing from view with a stunned grunt.

Loki’s only reaction was to smile, offhand. Though he was a bit stymied when Mjolnir swerved by out of nowhere, narrowly missing his head.

Thor called the hammer back, snatching it up as he glowered at him. Loki’s mouth twitched in a mean smirk, summoning a staff to his hands. Expression dark and ready for a fight, Thor stalked over to him.

Clint wanted to back him up. But Thor he knew could hold his own, so reluctantly he checked up on the others.

The rest of the team was turning the tide, looking as if they had figured out a better strategy for dealing with the rock monsters. The Captain was smashing one after another apart with wide, heavy swings of his shield. Stark was employing his more percussive weaponry, blasting the things with lasers and missiles.

Natasha had even figured out how to take the things apart with bullets, aiming towards their central mass, though it seemed to take a worrying number of shots.

 As Clint watched she emptied two clips in quick succession and started on a third. Knowing what his duty was here, he put the steps at his back and went to help her.

Ducking under a stone fist, he felt something sharp cut him just above one eye. He took one creature apart swinging his bow like a club, blew up one with another grenade arrow which in a neat bit of collateral took out another standing near it, and finally used a tripwire shot to bring two more to the ground with feet literally cut out from under them. Together, moving in unison in a way that they didn’t even have to think about, he and Natasha finished them off.

It didn’t satisfy him as much as it should. It wasn’t these mindless minions he wanted to be taking care of, it was Loki himself. All the rest was just a frustrating distraction to keep them from completing their mission.

The last three rock men were felled when Stark got two of them to crash headfirst into each other, taking each other out, and the Captain got the other in a hold and managed to fling it away, breaking apart on the side of the building. No more enemies in sight, the team regrouped, most of them visibly panting.

 _“Nothing like a nice workout.”_ Stark made a show of dusting off both his shoulders.

Rogers looked around at them. “Where’s Dr. Banner?”

“Uh…” Turning his head, Clint looked at the mess of dirt and lumber left behind by the Hulk’s crash-landing.

“He’s napping,” Natasha presumed. Within a half-second beat, she added in a slight undertone, “I hope.”

 _“So he’s out of this one,”_ Stark summed up, swiftly. _“But he can take care of himself.”_ His head moved with that odd hydraulic sound as he scanned around with his visor. _“What about Thor? Where’s Loki?”_

The sounds of ongoing battle caught their attention as if in reply. As one the four of them looked back towards the museum, where the two Asgardians were locked in single combat.

Thor wasn’t holding back, but Loki was giving no quarter either. And he was using every trick in the book to keep the other man from reaching him. A volley of energy blasts harried every step the thunder god took.

Thor finally closed in, narrowly dodging fire every step of the way. Loki threw a knife at him and Thor countered with his fist. Hammer met staff and then the two parried off of one another. Thor swung at Loki again, the other this time managing to pull his head back in time. Then shifting his weight he kicked Thor hard in the side.

Thor was knocked back, catching himself one hand as he narrowly avoided face-planting in the dirt.

“What’s the matter, Thor?” Loki taunted, raising his staff in a way that preempted a strike. “No words of heartfelt, familial pleas today? Too busy enjoying the fight to reach out to your poor, misguided brother?”

“You are no brother of mine,” Thor shouted at him, in livid disgust. “By your actions, you have all but convinced me no lingering trace of the good man that once was remains!” He got to his feet, jaw set with determination.

“The love I had for you once can only go so far. And you have stretched it past the breaking point, with your lies, and your brutality.” He curled his fingers into fists, sheathing Mjolnir once more at his belt. “If it your wish that I view you only as an enemy, Loki, that it would seem at last you have gotten _exactly_ what you desire.”

Loki flinched, apparently not having expected he would be able to provoke this reaction. His face paled and for a moment there was something actually looked raw in his eyes.

But it was gone far, far too quickly to be read – quick enough for Clint almost to convince himself he imagined it. Again the sorcerer composed himself with a look of bitter indifference.

“Is that so, Thunderer?”he grated. “Well…good. You’re learning.”

He lifted his staff to blast him, throwing Thor back away from him even further.

“But not nearly fast enough!”

Steam was rising off Thor’s armor and the heat had been so intense part of the asphalt around him had melted. He groaned, struggling to get to his knees. Both Rogers and Natasha ran over to his side, trying to help.

 _“You know, you never do run out of ways to be a little prick, do you?”_ Stark zoomed in overhead with his armor, peppering Loki with projectiles set to wipe the shit-eating grin off his face.

Loki had to drop to a crouch, turning his head aside so his helmet could protect him, raising one forearm to shield his eyes.

Clint loaded up another arrow. This one had an emitter on it designed to let loose a supersonic blast. It would do some hefty damage to anything nearby – more importantly it might just stun Loki long enough they could cage him. Stealthily he stepped his way in from the side, trying to keep out of Loki’s line of sight.

Fortunately, Stark was doing his usual bang-up job of being loud and distracting. And considering he was actively attacking the Asgardian, no surprise Loki was keeping his eyes fixated on the man in the metal suit.

Scowling, he found an interlude in the barrage to get back to his feet. Hands fisted, he glared.

From his midair position, Stark raised both hands to shrug at him mockingly, the picture of nonchalance.

 _“Don’t suppose you’d like to give up,”_ he offered. _“You know, take this opportunity to come in easy.”_

“I don’t think so.” Loki reached to actually pluck the shards of a metal fragment from his armor, arching an eyebrow at it with a sniff. “You never do run out of new toys to add to your odd little arsenal.”

 _“Hey, what can I say?”_ Despite his covered face Stark’s grin was audible. _“I like to stay on the cutting edge. These days I’m packing just about everything short of a sonic screwdriver.”_

Loki’s voice dripped with wry sarcasm. “I suppose next you’ll slip in a crude joke to the effect of how your suit is ‘bigger on the inside’.”

Three things happened very fast.

The first was Stark going, _“Wait, what?”_ in a highly disbelieving voice, after a beat of dead silence. _“Did you just-”_

The second was Loki immediately made an expression that caught Clint off-guard: an “Oh crap” sort of look, like he had screwed up somehow.

The third was that everyone present was made abruptly aware that Thor must have recovered from that last assault, because he dove in out of nowhere with arms outstretched, practically snarling as he threw himself at his adoptive brother’s head.

Exit Loki, knocked out of range by Thor. Clint looked on in a mixture of helplessness and exasperated bloodlust.

The two gods rolled on the ground, engaging in what looked to be some good old-fashioned dirty tactic wrestling. The rest of the Avengers came in as close as they dared, hanging anxiously on the periphery, the two fighters too entangled for anyone else to be able to do anything. It finally came to a crescendo with Loki pinned on his back atop the museum steps, Thor sitting astride him as he punched him again and again in the face.

Thor brought both hands together overhead, ready it looked to strike the final blow. Gasping for air, Loki clenched his teeth as he buried a knife into Thor’s ribs.

Roaring in pain, the blond Asgardian was distracted enough that the other was able to shove him off and roll free.

Breathing heavily Loki dragged himself, limping, over to the giant statue of Theodore Roosevelt that graced the museum’s entrance.

“You always did play too rough,” he wheezed, too shaken for his taunts to have the full effect of their meanness. “Here - why don’t you take this fellow on for size?”

Not sure what was happening but having a bad feeling, Clint ran towards him, as did all the others. But before they could get anywhere near Loki had already laid a hand on the statue’s base.

Magic sparked from his hand and ripped across the statue’s surface.

There was an ear-splitting, impossible sound as within seconds the massive stallion on which the former president was seated came to life and reared up, whinnying. Both the horse’s and Roosevelt’s eyes glowed a demonic red as they leapt down from the base, a distorted voice coming from the rider as he gave a cry of _“Tally ho!”_

 _“That did not just happen,”_ Stark muttered, thrusters propelling him higher as tried to keep the rampaging statue within sight.

“Guys, let’s regroup,” Rogers commanded, waving his arm. “Believe it or not, it looks like we might have a bigger problem than Loki right now.”

“Loki _is_ the problem,” Clint insisted, indignant. The rest of the team, even Thor, was already going after Roosevelt. But he held his ground, twisting as he looked back at Loki.

Hunching down and hand pressed over some injury, Loki was creeping away towards the shadows, watching them. Any second he was going to vanish out of sight, using his magic to leave.

Clint put a finger to his earpiece, unable to accept this happening. “He’s getting away!”

 _“Let him,”_ Stark retorted. _“He’s not the one about to carry a big stick into central Manhattan.”_

“But-”

 _“Clint.”_ That was Natasha’s voice, flat yet entreating, that cut him off. _“Get over here. We need your help.”_

He ground the back of his teeth. One last look at Loki – who was already surrounded by magic sparkles, image starting to flicker and fade. Clint twisted away roughly, grumbling. He couldn’t bear to actually watch their enemy escape, while he stood there, doing nothing.

Setting his back up, he ran to join in with the rest of the team.

Approximately twenty minutes later, after Clint had used his sonic arrow to take most of the legs off the stone horse, the battle was finally finished when Rogers threw his shield to decapitate the statue of Teddy.

“Sorry, Mister President,” the captain remarked, because of course he did.

Silence bloomed in the wake that followed, a hundred sounds pushed to the background as Clint listened to the blood rushing past his ears. Natasha came over to him, suit torn in a few places, mostly looking fine.

She kept her voice quiet. “What happened out there?”

He tried to brush her off. “I’m fine.”

But the set of her face and the grim scrutiny in her eyes were entirely unconvinced. “No,” she stated, disagreeing, “you’re not.”

He braced himself, but neither of them had much more they could say. And anyway at that point, the rest of the Avengers were making their way over.

Banner ambled over, wearing a zip-up set of coveralls that must have been donated by one of the SHIELD agents. He glanced around at the broken statue fragments that littered the road, the melted flagstones and torn-up concrete. The Avengers team, bruised and bloodied but all still present and standing,

“Hey, guys. I take it we won.” He looked back at the police officers and agents already starting to swoop in to begin the necessary clean-up. “Uh…so what happened?”

Stark landed between him and Rogers, faceplate lifting. His suit was dented along the side and sparking at one of the shoulder joints.

Rogers’ cowl had fallen back, and he stood like he had twisted something in his leg. Thor’s hair was drenched in sweat, his armor ripped and mangled, his expression bitter and exhausted. Natasha had broken two fingers and would probably have a shiner tomorrow. Despite no visible injuries Banner was covered in dirt, and Clint himself was still bleeding from the cut on his arm, one side of his face coated from the injury near his forehead.

“I realize how this might sound,” Stark began, “but…does anyone else feel like we got off awfully easy?”

“No,” Rogers was quick to agree. He looked around, seriously, frowning. “It’s not just you.”

*

It could be supposed that being on Asgard once more, and not as an imprisoned traitor but as one who was treated like they belonged, and had rightful access to all sort of luxuries and deference, was an experience Loki would find particularly amenable.

But that would be wrong. It was a mockery, he felt, to be treated as if he actually had a place.

When time and time again had proven, through the ages, that nothing could be further from the truth. They pretended and put on their pleasant smiles for him, and he was to act as if he thought he’d really been accepted, instead of behaving with self-respect.

They scorned him, sneered at him, whispered tales and called him names behind his back. But when he was there to see, they bobbed and smiled, bowing, saying “my lord”.

And for this he was to give his approval, act the gracious fool, carry on like he didn’t know what they really were.

Everyone’s mask was back in place – the masks he had ripped off in his own world, revolted by the games. He could see them now, clearly in a way he never could in his youth: the cracking greasepaint, the covers straining at the seams.

He much preferred Asgard without the masks. When everyone was free to insult and revile openly. When they cursed and spat at him, and he grinned back with bloodstained mouth and hate-filled eyes, showing how much better he was than _them_.

But, no. It was back to the cheap antics and hastily-painted veneer of falsehood, for now. And he had to walk around Asgard playing the loyal subject, where once he had sat on her throne and wielded absolute power as king. Where he still should _be_ king, by right, had there not been conspiracy to steal what belonged to him.

Not that Loki _wanted_ Asgard, anymore. He had long cast off any attachment to the land where he had been so poorly raised. Thor and the others could have it. They were welcome to its aged, fetid glory.

Frankly, he considered the place _far_ beneath him now, and what he had grown to become.

And yet here he was. Wearing a prince’s crown, and putting on a little show.

And everyone around him acted like it was the most wonderful thing in the world.

It galled him, ate at him every day as inside he grew more sour, reminding himself again and again how much he despised this place. This body which was just like his own still felt as if it sat on him like an ill-made suit of clothes. And it grew harder not to lash out, to say what he wanted, to treat them all the way they deserved.

Outwardly he had them eating out of his hand. Outwardly, his deception was flawless, and he had them all fooled. This did not surprise him. He had expected that.

But he was realizing this little bit of playacting took more out of him than he’d thought. This was not effortless – it was exhausting. And he couldn’t keep it up forever.

He was already starting to feel as if he couldn’t even keep it up for very much more.

Loki smiled placidly as he stood there in the royal hall, calm and composed – and he had to fight the angry shriek that was building within, that threatened to tear its way up his throat; the taste of bile that overwhelmed his senses, the twitch that was constantly on the verge of blooming in his eye.

It was so…uncomfortable. Cloying. Smothering. If he didn’t find an outlet soon, a way to alleviate himself, he would give in to madness.

And as much fun as he would have, as much satisfaction as it’d give him to slaughter every last Asgardian and burn the palace to the ground – it would be a bit inconvenient just now, and ultimately gain him nothing.

After all this wasn’t even the right version of his reality. Nothing he did here really mattered.

He was walking along the edge of one of the stone courtyards, overlooking the gardens, _trying_ to simply catch his breath, when he heard footsteps approach. Before he could do anything about it, he found himself being overtaken.

“Ah, there you are, man!” With bombastic cheerfulness Volstagg reached out to clap him on the shoulder, hard. “We’ve been wondering where you got off to!”

Loki’s spine itched like it crawled with insects. He longed to grab this buffoon’s arm between both of his, using his monstrous girth against him as he flipped him end over, sending him careening to the ground…

He smiled, meeting Volstagg’s eyes. “Oh, have you?”

Chuckling Volstagg patted him once more before, at last, withdrawing his hand. “Indeed. Fandral and Hogun were talking about going down to the training grounds today to meet up with Sif – they thought we could all spar together for a bit, just like old times.”

Loki held his ground, face impassive and hands clasped behind his back. But Volstagg’s manner was anything but reserved, or formal, as he leaned in conspiratorially and repeatedly got into Loki’s personal space.

“ _Thor_ of course is too busy,” briefly the red-bearded warrior’s nose wrinkled, “but I thought maybe you would care to join us. Eh?” He gestured in eagerness, practically bouncing. “What do you say?”

“I am of course, most flattered, Volstagg. But I’m afraid I’m not in much mood for combat today.”

“Oh, foo!” Volstagg looked genuinely disappointed. “But it’s been so _long_. Just because you and I have become old married men and don’t have much in the way of adventures anymore, doesn’t mean we can’t pretend, does it?”

Though before Loki could respond, Volstagg turned away to look over his shoulder, where a waif-like noble lady had been patiently awaiting him all the while, listening to his and Loki’s conversation with mild interest.

“Not that I would give it up for anything,” Volstagg called to her lovingly, “my sweet.”

The woman smiled back at him, gracious. “Of course not, husband.”

Loki peered at her. He had been made aware of this female’s existence by now, of course – though it still frankly amazed him that a blowhard and glutton such as Volstagg had managed to find a willing woman to be his wife. And not even an equally stout, plain woman either, but one who in the most objective terms could be considered something of a beauty.

Siún, he recalled her name was. He’d plenty of opportunity to meet with her by now – not only was she married to Volstagg, she also served as lady-in-waiting to the mortal Loki found himself burdened with. Facts that would have provoked the idlest disinterest from him, usually – though there was also that he had the strong sense she was at least in part of mermaid blood.

He stood there, eyeing her with partly concealed scrutiny. Releasing a small aura of unseen magic, he probed at her, analyzing her level of training and ability. His nostrils flared slightly as he scented the air.

Yes; definitely of mermaid stock. Though more mortal than not, and far from a true sorceress.

With enough innate skill to sense other magic, though, it seemed. Her eyes flickered, and she gave Loki a questioning look. Swiftly he withdrew his power, raising his shields once more, on the chance she might tell something was amiss.

“My prince?” She looked to him curiously, a bit uncertain.

He shook his head, telling her silently to pay it no mind. She frowned slightly but let it pass, as Volstagg looked on quizzically, with no idea what they were talking about.

Gently seizing the lady’s hand Loki gave a polite kiss to the back of it. “My sincerest apologies to your husband, my fine lady, but I believe for now I am going to leave him in your company for entertainment.” He cast a cool look at Volstagg, who seemed not to notice. “I trust you will pass along my regards and regrets to the others?”

“Aye, I will.” Volstagg sighed, but then raised a finger as he took on a comical warning manner. “ _This_ time. But don’t forget, my friend, life is short. You won’t be able to hide from us forever!”

“I could never wish for such a thing,” Loki returned sweetly, making himself rise to the other’s jest. “But, now, if you’ll excuse me…”

He got quickly away from their company, padding his way down one of the servants’ darkened corridors so that he would not be spotted. The blood rushed through his head from the intensity of the incensed emotions that had been brought up in him.

Hard to believe, but Volstagg and the other Imbeciles Three actually treated him as if they thought of him as a _friend_ now. They, and even Sif…as if they enjoyed his company, his self for his own sake, instead of what he had made himself realize was the truth from his youth: that they cared nothing for him, only permitting him to tag along for sake of humoring his brother. That they barely hid how they mistrusted and disliked Loki, just like everyone else.

But now, for some reason, they wanted him to believe they were friends, true companions, and they had been all along. Ridiculous. As if Loki didn’t remember his own past. As if he didn’t have a clear picture of the way things _really_ were, on Asgard.

But then that was the thing about this life he was pretending at that most stymied him. When he thought of Asgard, he recalled most often being alone.

In this here and now, however, it seemed he could never find any time to be by himself. He was _not_ alone; he was anything but.

His so-called ‘friends’ and ‘family’ constantly sought out his company. He was actually expected to attend gatherings, to sit in the grand hall on feast nights. If he missed one, people would hunt him down, worried, wondering over his health. Apparently this other Loki showed up most nights, in attendance, and was happier to be there than not.

Loki was appalled, almost offended, by the very thought.

Oh, and the _family_. There were the children, of course – and he’d felt downright lightheaded to realize there were so many of them. The little one, a much older boy, and yet another who was at present on Midgard playing at being a scholar. And then there were two girls on top of that! No less than five mewling brats, constantly coming to him, seeking his attention or aide or asking to show him things.

Maybe it wasn’t surprising there were so many progeny, considering the mortal who called herself his wife never gave him any peace. Not only did she follow him everywhere, trying to devise entertainments for them both, she wanted to spend every night together whether they rutted or not.

It’d been quite the shock for Loki when that first night, after making it known as sweetly as possible he had no use for her that evening, instead of politely withdrawing the way a dutiful wife should…the woman went and climbed into his bed, making it clear she intended to wait for him.

Though going by her puzzled reaction when he questioned her, it became clear for them that really _was_ normal. Sleeping side by side every single time, blanketed in each other’s arms.

 _You didn’t only marry a mortal, did you,_ Loki demanded of his other, non-present self: _You actually went and fell madly in love with her! Sickening, besotted fool…_

But infatuation wasn’t the worst affection this other Loki had given into. It was clear from the way both the All-Father and Thor looked at him, that he hadn’t the good sense to keep them at a distance.

It took maximum self-control to keep from murdering Odin when he greeted him in passing as “my son”. As if, after everything, it should be the most _natural_ thing to do.

Loki had to keep falling back on excuses to get out of the old man’s presence. He had no idea how to navigate conversations the All-Father kept trying to have with him, without giving away that he felt nothing towards the other but absolute burning hatred.

And as for Thor; Thor who he was now supposed to bow and scrape to more than ever before, and call _“my king”…_

He shook himself with a scowl, bringing himself out of his incensed brooding. Hadn’t he wasted enough time on the likes of Thor and the others already?

Though the question for now remained, what was he going to do? How in the world was he going to find some manner of peace?

Asgard’s palace remained the way he remembered it, but it seemed there remained precious little places he could use as a retreat. The mortal woman could enter his rooms without permission, he had discovered, and most of his old hiding places had been compromised by the children. If he went into the great hall, or the courtyard, expecting to be able to find a corner to lurk in solitude, he was thwarted – smiling courtiers approached him where once they would’ve disdained his very presence, and tried luring him into conversation.

Even one of his most reliable sanctuaries, the library, had failed him. He had no sooner settled himself into a seat by the window, high up and nearly lost between dust-covered shelves, when a group of long-bearded advisors came in, looking for him specifically! They wanted him to speak on _their behalf_ to the king, regarding some bit of policy.

Learning that in this world he held some position of power was no balm to Loki – he who had sworn to serve no masters, ever again, save his own savage whims. Now here he found in another life he still lived with Asgard’s yoke firmly around his neck, a happy serf, working for the “benefit of the realm” and living as a dog at the feet of his hated once-brother.

‘Disgust’ was too kind a word for what he felt.

But if everywhere he went there seemed to be someone who could seek him out, surely there must be someplace he could go that no one would think to look for him? Loki thought hard.

At last, he hit upon what appeared an adequate solution.

Pausing only to gather up some necessary things, he made his way to the great stone and ivory blocks near the center of the western side of the palace, where could be found the communal bathing chambers.

How exactly baths worked in Asgard’s palace was a curious thing, somewhat divided up by age and rank. The common-folk who did not live with such easy access to heated water – it was said they only washed fully once a week, if not less. Though there were plenty of palace-dwellers, especially careless warriors, who could be frightfully indifferent about hygiene, most considered it a natural thing to bathe daily.

The highest-ranking noblewomen would have their own small private baths: the queen, the former queen, and a full-grown princess. Other women of high rank, and children, could have servants carry a tub into their bedchamber when they wished for it.

The public baths had an antechamber intended for use by women who had not such time, or authority, such as handmaidens and serving girls, but these were small and mostly existed as a matter of convenience. The baths’ main usage was for the palace men, for once they came of age most of them were expected to visit it.

A nobleman could ask for water and soap to be sent to his rooms instead of course, but if he made a habit of it, words would travel. There would be whispers that he must be sickly, prissy, or childish – in short, unmanly. And so to save face, though it at first be a daunting task, even the most skittish of youths must swallow his nerves and venture forth, with not but his own pride and a towel to guard him.

When he was young Loki _hated_ the baths. Standing naked before one’s fellows was thought an act of camaraderie, but he who had always been the outsider only felt more discomfort and humiliation. It was a place for men to make crude jokes and boasts, and he hated the sound of such ribald laughter, how it echoed loudly off the tiles in so small a space. Hated it more so when directed at him – always skinnier and paler and more hairless than others, especially as a lad. He would grit his teeth when dragged along by Thor and his friends, but soon he got in the habit of visiting during the odd hours, when it was less likely to be used.

The middle of the day, long after lunch but nowhere close to the evening meal, was one such a time. Loki paused outside the free-swinging oak door and shut his eyes, listening diligently, but heard no voices within or obvious sounds of movement.

He undressed, using magic to aid the removal of finer fastenings he had no patience for. Armor could be cumbersome, but it was so very _different_ from the regal layers of a noble. He piled his clothes carefully in an alcove, seized a towel which he draped near-indifferently over one shoulder, and – in act borne out of centuries of muscle memory almost more than anything – strode inside the baths with his jaw set and his head held defiantly high.

Silence greeted him on his entry. He peered through the somewhat hazy interior, but saw no figures or movement. _Alone. Good._

Swiftly Loki turned back to the door, shoving it closed and pressing both hands palm-flat against it. He spoke the names of runes and passed magic through his skin by force of will. Even with the wrong soul in the wrong body, this was no difficult feat. His spell was simple.

Runes of sealing, and runes of binding. A magical lock that would guard the door and keep any from entering, until he removed it.

Alone, truly alone at last, Loki let out a deep sigh of relief, unleashing pent-up frustration. He was starting to think he would _never_ escape the cloying confines of this life he borrowed – the strange hell his more sentimental double had built around himself.

A life tightly interwoven with so many others: exposed and reliant and so very _unlike_ Loki.

Reaching to work at a stiff muscle in one shoulder, rolling his arm back, he climbed into the nearest tub. Deep enough to go over his head if he crouched, wide enough almost he could swim in, the water was warm and inviting.

Long had it been in his own life since he’d spared time for such comforts. Despite himself Loki couldn’t help but relax, enjoying it. Resting both arms flat on the surface behind him he leaned his head back, closing his eyes.

It was quiet, and he was – if not happy, then pleased. Savoring in the relief and physical sensation.

Minutes ticked by, and he’d almost gone into something of an idyllic trance. When suddenly, there came a sound from the corner.

Loki froze at once, every muscle tightening, readied for a fight. His eyes flew open. His neck turned as he looked with wide, mistrustful eyes.

It was a grunt, almost a snore. A mutter made by a deep-voiced man rousing himself to a state of wakefulness. And a shape Loki had failed to see before – completely hidden in the furthest recess by steam and shadows – shook itself and leaned forward, becoming far more visible.

And Loki, who had already braced with one hand to rise, who held the other hand out of sight in a fist, a terrible stinging curse wriggled into being within his palm, realized with dumbstruck horror who he’d unknowingly confined himself with.

“Ah, brother! My apologies if I have startled you. It seems the heat got to me, and I fell asleep.”

Thor grinned welcomingly, words punctuated by self-mocking laughter as he brushed with one thick hand at his limp golden hair.

For a space Loki was so angry, so horrified that he could hardly speak.

“You made no sound when I came in.” The words came out accusingly; he couldn’t help it. Thor was, after all, his _enemy_. “I thought the baths were empty. I couldn’t even _see_ you.”

Thor frowned. “It was not an intentional act, I assure you. But my morning was long, and trying, full of most tedious statecraft. I had thought the waters would replenish me; instead it seems they relaxed me too much. But I confess to feeling better now. Still, again, I am sorry if I frightened you.”

Loki retorted sharply, “You did not _frighten_ me.”

How dare the son of Odin think him so weak-willed, as to cower and tremble at mere starts.

Thor’s frown deepened. Something in his eyes grew to look concerned.

And Loki remembered, and swallowed back his hatred. Forcibly smoothed ruffled feathers into place. Made himself appear still and calm: like water pulling a stone beneath its surface. He let the spell fade from his hand.

“Forgive me, my king,” he said fluidly. “I too have had a somewhat trying morning, and it seems I forget myself.”

Thor smiled, easily quelled by these simple words. “Ah, it is all right, Loki. But you need not fall back on such deference when you think you have upset me.”

“Of course.” The words came stiff and cool. Loki moved on in order to hide them. “I think you cannot blame me for being surprised that you’d be here, though. Is not one of the luxuries attached to Asgard’s throne that her ruler has his own baths he may relish at his leisure?”

Thor laughed again. “Maybe so. But sometimes Asgard’s king almost wishes he were not, and so he comes here, so that he may pretend for a while at being merely Thor the warrior.”

Loki turned his head aside so that Thor wouldn’t see the distasteful set to his mouth.

Ah so, the massive oaf still played at humility. Loki knew his nature better – so that his soft words only came across as greater insult.

He was surprised, he had to admit, that true power and a crown had not brought the tyrant to the surface. But then, he supposed he could imagine it: a weak-willed and short-tempered king, who kept himself loved by claiming he did everything for the good of his _people_. The fools would always believe it, and Thor was fool enough even to believe it of himself.

Loki sneered at such thoughts. Thor was greedy and arrogant, and had only learned just enough from his precious humans that he longer thought himself thus. If anything, his ego had become more bloated – he only disguised it with pretty words and a humbly bowed head.

Out loud Loki said, “I hope that the need for these games of pretend is not too frequent. If only for I fear the massive confusion you’d create among the guards and servants, should they come across their ruler here in naught but the ‘glory’ he was born with.”

Thor chuckled at the light remark, and Loki conjured up a smile to match his. So strange it felt, playing this game again – _‘Of course I am happy, brother, if you are happy. Of course nothing lurks in my mind.’_

“No, no. It is nothing so dire.” Thor sighed, and leaned back. Loki was offhandedly glad he at least wore a towel. “Whenever I am too harried, I go to Jane, or our children, or my friends – or you, of course.” His smile grew fond, and conspiratorial. “It is a good life, we have.”

Did this other Loki really think it so – hounded by false flatterers, chained by duties with no real authority, surrounded by needy mortals and mewling babes? How disquieting to consider.

“Yes, brother” – somehow he managed to shape the word without poison, and congratulated himself – “it most certainly is.”

Thor peered forward though, and he appeared less certain as his brow creased with thought.

“I do not mean to pry, Loki. But may I ask – is everything all right with you and Lady Darcy?”

Besides wishing the wretched creature didn’t exist? “Certainly to my knowledge. Why do you ask?”

Thor pointed. “You wear not your ring,” he said, gently. “I know you, Loki – you have strange thoughts about what others must think of you, that you permit even a so symbolic a binding.”

Loki looked down at his own unadorned hand, frowning. He knew better than to think Thor, any version of him, could possibly understand that sometimes it was the _symbols_ that could be the worst of all.

“But even when it is not actually on your finger, I know that you wear it on a chain ‘round your neck, hidden underneath your clothing,” Thor continued. “You keep that symbol of your love near your heart, as you do her.”

Loki stared at him. “Did I ever say as much to you?” he couldn’t help but ask, trying to keep the question sounding rhetorical.

“You did not have to,” Thor returned seriously, voice softening. “Was I not there for every step of your courtship? I saw the way you two looked to each other when you were still but friends. Forgive me – I do not mean to make you uncomfortable.” For Loki had looked away darkly, not sure what to make of this information. “I only worry for you both, is all. When you and Darcy quarrel is it only over the severest of matters. And even then…I’ve never known you to remove your ring, before. As if she somehow displeases you.”

Loki put a hand to the space over his throat. It was true: when he’d awoken in this body, the wedding band indeed hung from a thin chain around his neck. His other had fallen asleep with nothing on save that.

As if it was never _meant_ to be removed.

Of course Loki wasted no time in doing just that, once he had opportunity. He had assumed its existence a concession, and never that he should actually enjoy wearing a visible mark of even a small part of him being bound, owned by another.

He lifted his head again to look to Thor, and reminded himself of one thing, something very important.

Yes, this was all very strange. Yes, there were certainly questions he could ask.

But the fact was that he didn’t really _care_.

So he met the Odinson’s eyes and he lied flat-out. “I misplaced it, is all,” he said softly. He tried to imagine what a dutiful husband might say: “Don’t tell her? I’m sure I’ll find it again soon.”

Thor nodded. “Yes. I’m sure you will.” He rested his hands behind his head, relaxing once more – the king grinning as he tried to reassure his _brother_. “What it is that you seek, Loki, never remains long out of your sight.”

Loki had to smile at that, thinly. If only this fool knew, the extent of it. The things that _this_ Loki had sought, and found.

“How true your words, Thor.”

*

Though his reaction on finding himself in a locked room with Thor had been to grab some soap and begin washing as quickly as possible, it took Loki longer to get away than he’d have liked.

Thor, of course, had wanted to _talk_ to him, and it was hard for Loki to fob him off while staying in-character.

In this world after all Thor wasn’t only king of Asgard – he and Loki were _brothers_ still.

Or was that ‘brothers _again_ ’? It was hard to keep track.

But time and another life had not made Thor any less slow-witted. Loki easily talked in circles around him, speaking words of camaraderie and friendly jests while hiding his disdain and contempt.

Finally, he made his way out of the unwanted company. By now it was getting on into the early evening, and more people were coming inside the palace. So Loki went back to his rooms.

But peace was not so easily grasped. He shut the door behind him, only to find he wasn’t alone – the lamps had been lit already, and the woman that wore his wedding ring was seated at the edge of his bed.

Loki started and barely suppressed a groan. “You again!”

“Well, hello to you too, mister.” She tilted her head up at him, lightly frowning. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d been avoiding me.”

Noticed, had she? How astute for a mortal. He tried giving her a placating smile. “Darcy…”

“No, no. Let me finish.” She interrupted him with such casual confidence Loki was shocked into giving her what she asked. “You see, the fact is I _do_ know better – which means that I _know_ you have.”

She leaned back to rest her weight on her forearms. Her gown was diaphanous and low-cut, so this move ended up making a better show of her cleavage, which was admittedly quite ample.

It was puzzling because Loki had never considered breasts an especial favorite of his. Still, there must’ve been something that attracted his other self to her – it’d be ludicrous to think it was her _personality_.

“Loki, what is going on? I see you every day, but when I look into your eyes it’s like you’re a thousand miles away. Another world, even.”

An ironic smile tugged at Loki’s mouth, knowing as she didn’t how close to the truth she really was.

“You know I would never hurt you,” he said, empty platitudes that tended to work perfect in these situations.

“Not on purpose,” she replied softly, which surprised him. She stopped leaning and sat forward properly, looping hands around her knees.

“You’re so cold these days. I know you’re not doing it on purpose – at least I hope you’re not – but I don’t like it. Everyone else has been letting it go because they figure you’re just preoccupied with Selene, but…”

“But?” Loki prompted, perhaps too curious to see where she would go for his own good.

She shook her head, curtain of her hair for once unobscured by those oddly thick-framed spectacles of hers.

Loki had at last figured out why she seemed so familiar to him – the first time he had seen her and Jane Foster standing beside each other. Oh yes: in that moment, it had all come rushing back.

So not only had Thor actually kept _that woman_ in his life, she had managed in her own small way to insinuate herself into Loki’s as well. By making her former assistant his paramour.

Honestly, it was as if every single thing in this reality had aligned itself particularly to torment him.

“You have every right to be worried,” she stated, recapturing his attention. “We all do. Hell, do you think this is easy for me? You know how things went the last time between me and her.” He did not, which made him curious – he’d have to endeavor to get that information from her, later on. “I’m terrified. For me, for you…for our children.”

She swallowed.

“But we should be dealing with this _together_ right now. Not pulling apart. All these years and one of my least favorite things about you is still that you try to deal with your problems by balling up inside of yourself. I can’t believe you haven’t learned yet that that just makes it worse.”

She was giving him a look of such fond, heartfelt concern and exasperation. Loki had never been on the receiving end of such a thing before. He wasn’t certain how to react.

“I can’t change what I am,” he told her, distantly.

She sighed and got to her feet. “No one’s asking you to.” She came towards him, resting hands on his shoulders, rubbing them. “But you’re better than this.”

Loki gazed at her with scrutiny. He tucked his fingertips under her chin, lifting her face up so he could better examine it.

“There truly is more to you than meets the eye, isn’t there?” he was forced to concede.

Taking it for a jest she smirked, turning her head aside, batting her eyes. “You should know that by now,” she teased him.

Such a strange creature she was. As they stood there she paused only a moment before closing the distance between them further, pressing her body against his, drawing her arms closer in the start of an embrace.

“You know it’s been like, two months since we made love?” she murmured, looking up at him.

Oh, he was well aware. He’d had no interest in sleeping with her – though they forcibly shared a bed near every night, he’d given her naught but kisses and caresses since taking over this body.

“Why, Darcy. Are you trying to seduce me?” he played along, wondering if at last this time, there would be no way out.

“I don’t know. Is it working?”

Taking one of his hands in her own she turned away, taking slow purposeful steps towards the bed. Glancing back at him over her shoulder.

“All work and no play, Loki. It’s a saying on Earth.” She sat down again, patting the mattress invitingly. The look she gave him could be described no other way than sensual. “I think you’ve been wasting enough time on this worrying stuff.”

A flat-out summons to his husbandly duties. He supposed he could get his way through them. It had been…a rather long time for him, to tell the truth. Maybe he would even enjoy it.

He smirked back at her. “Well, all right. If you insist.”

“Oh, but I do. I really do.” She lay down against the pillow nearest the headboards. Getting the hint he joined her on the bed, crawling on top of her. “Mmm. Oh, Loki…”

She was rather more interested in the kissing part than most of his past partners. Then again, unless he was feigning a seduction, most people Loki coupled with had a mutual understanding this was for one thing and one thing only. It made a kind of sense, that a wife would want romance – that a wife would want foreplay.

He began removing her clothes and was rather gratified that she lay back and let him. She started tugging at his laces – Loki humored her by offering his assistance.

When both were undressed she clung to him closer, moving herself against him in a way that was pleasing. He took a cold survey of the body being offered to him, concealing the scrutinizing nature of his glance. After all, he was supposed to have seen all this before.

He was really only halfway present, mentally. Not at all present emotionally. Ready and willing to go through the physical motions – just because carnal matters had never driven his attentions didn’t mean he wasn’t _very_ experienced.

And then Darcy put her hands on him, and nipped at his throat in such a way, that instantly she had his full and undivided attention.

“Wha--?”

“Oh yeah. I’ve got you.” She hissed into his ear, smug, “I know just how you like it. Don’t I?”

Any thought he would’ve had to protest was cut off as it was becoming incrementally, rapidly quite clear that she very much did.

Before Loki knew what was happening he could barely keep up. She had her legs wrapped around his middle, her hips doing – _something_ that his cock rather appreciated. She ran the points of her nails across his chest. She flicked her tongue at his earlobe, and then followed it up by using her teeth on the side of his neck.

Loki had the dim, unspeakable thought that she was cheating.

She knew him, he realized with a strange frightened manner. She had been sleeping with him, with this body for years. She knew every place to touch. Every button to hit.

How to tease and taunt and tantalize and…pleasure.

He was unable to stop her. Not so much that he wanted to. But it felt like he’d been borne over a cliff by a waterfall, and found the speed at which he was being carried along overwhelming and intimidating.

But he really had no choice. He found himself on his back with her sitting atop, straddling him, riding him in a frenetic matter as he struggled to match her pace.

He hissed at her, thrusting harder than he had planned to, calling her a wicked thing. Cursing her. She just laughed, and urged his body along further, with almost no input from him.

He had lost all control of the situation. His mind had become prisoner to this body and its libido, to the desires he had denied for so long.

All the while she kept going for his weak spots – his ribs, the inside of his thigh, his hair, the soft part of his wrist, and anywhere on his throat. Weaknesses he had hidden from most others he shared his body with, and had always felt mixed about when they discovered. But she knew every one. Knew them, and went straight for them, with no question.

Loki groaned, head craning, eyes rolling back in his head. He grasped her hips and stroked her spine, clinging to her, urging her on even as he pleaded, unspoken, for release.

They were trapped together in a haze of flesh and heat and lust, pleasure so acute it was painful. He had no idea how long they lasted. Time had become…difficult. Near without meaning.

Eventually, it was over. She arced above him, with a happy cry. Loki filled her, his body sated.

After she curled up next to him, head on his chest, practically in a ball, making sounds both satisfied and pleased with herself. His hand moved absently to card her hair.

Loki was left lying there, limbs boneless, blinking with wide eyes at the ceiling.

Trying to piece together _what_ in all the nine realms it was that had just happened.

*

Natasha walked the corridors of the Helicarrier, not minding it was late and they were mostly bare.

She was used to being alone, between training, running surveillance and…other things. It was by far what she considered normal. Oftentimes she even preferred it.

It was when she did her best thinking.

The Helicarrier though was a completely different atmosphere than Avengers Tower right now. Even in the heat of battle, the SHIELD fortress was all proficiency and business.

The Tower could be a lot of things. Never those.

Life there was noisy, crowded despite its size, unpredictable. She rarely knew what to make of it, to make of the men she considered her teammates, the strange and layered bonds slowly forming together.

Some days she found herself liking it. Others she found herself feeling out of place, unused to everything, and if she wasn’t careful, thinking too hard about who she was that she would even feel out of place.

Thoughts that were dangerous for a spy to have.

Right now though the Tower was hardly a party. Unless maybe by Tony Stark’s incredibly sarcastic definition. Right now it was the six of them, licking their wounds, mulling over the aftermath of their latest fight.

No one had thought the Asgardian war criminal would reappear again so soon. Or that when he did, the encounter would go so…odd.

Loki had to be up to something. That was the easy assumption to make. Exactly what, she wasn’t going to try piecing together without more evidence.

The reaction of the others, perhaps unsurprisingly, was a lot less pragmatic. More mixed. There was brooding going on in a few corners. Fuming going on in others.

It’d been a good thing when Fury called and asked her and Clint to come in, deliver their reports. The best way for her to help the boys with whatever they were feeling, was for her to stay out of the way. Potentially sad but true.

No one liked baring their soul to someone who was already known for playing head-games.

Her session with the Director had been brief. Really, there wasn’t a whole lot to tell. Not that he couldn’t have already seen and figured out for himself from footage and other incident reports SHIELD would’ve gathered by then. Loki had come; he’d made a mess that for him had been an oddly amount of show with no tell. They took their shot at him and he got away. End of story.

There were times she was given the impression, or more than, that Fury did not always appreciate her brevity. This was one of those times.

But it had been a relatively short encounter. There were really only so many ways she could say it – and whatever he was looking for, she didn’t have the answers. It’s not like she was holding anything back.

It wasn’t like it was _impossible_ , but this wasn’t one of those times.

So relieved of that duty she was left to wander, until business sent her out in the field again, or she could spare a minute to find a ride out of here. Until then she could find something to keep herself occupied.

Or nothing at all.

Before she could consider her options too hard, however, something beeped at her from her belt. Unbuckling the communication device, she glanced at the screen and saw she was being summoned – not the bridge, but to the surveillance room.

 _What now?_ Well, it did no good standing around guessing. She made her way over.

Surveillance was an odd place – a small room with several screens, designed to really fit only one chair. A lot of the heavy lifting was taken up by the programs and systems built into the computer, scanning images from all over the world faster than a human could even think about blinking. All that was required on the flesh-and-blood end was for one agent to sit there and make sure all the proper lights were flashing. It looked far less impressive than it really was.

Natasha could relate.

She entered the room and stood a small distance back, not bothering with a preamble. “What’s up?”

The young woman who had drawn this particular shift spared her a glance before going back to her screens. “Oh, hey – Black Widow, right? I think I’ve got something for you.” She had straight brown hair, a particularly bored expression, and was obviously new.

Natasha thought she had met her once before, in passing. Thought that her name was Claire Wise. She had a boyfriend who worked down in R&D. SHIELD had recruited them at the same time; fallout from some mission she hadn’t bothered reading up on.

“What do you mean?”

Typing at her terminal Wise brought something up and pointed to it, tapping the monitor with one fingernail. “Just spotted this guy back in Manhattan. Eyes and ears is giving me a ninety-six and a half percent match.”

Natasha froze as she stared. Even after the surveillance’s enhancement, it still was a fairly blurry image. But it looked like Loki – in incredibly normal civilian clothes, a hood pulled over his face.

“It can’t be,” she found herself protesting, stonily. “He was just _in_ New York. He did his damage and he fled. He can’t possibly be ready to attract attention again that soon.”

Wise looked over her shoulder. “Hey, that’s what I thought, but…ninety-six and a half.” She shrugged.

As impossible as it seemed the odds were far, far too high not to send a field agent to check it out. Someone who could watch from afar without being spotted, like her, was a natural choice.

“All right. Send me the coordinates.” Natasha looked down, checking her ammo clips. She’d have to swing by the lockers to get her bites and other equipment on the way out. “Keep an eye on him until my arrival.”

“Hey, I know the protocol.” Wise was back to unconcealed boredom again. “Had it drilled into me enough times by now. Speaking of, want me to page Agent Barton? Or are you gonna get him?”

Natasha had a split-second to consider. How unpredictable the situation with Loki already was. How Clint had been acting. That he didn’t need his buttons any more pushed.

“No. Don’t bother. It’s just spotter duty – I don’t need backup for that,” she ordered the other woman, smooth. “Don’t even let him know.”

Wise looked skeptical. “You sure about that?”

“I am. I can call Hawkeye myself if this turns into an engagement.” She turned to leave. “Until then, this is the kind of mission that I work best alone.”

Like all the best lies, it was one that was technically true. Following someone without being noticed was assassin bread-and-butter.

Besides she had a few reasons of her own to want to work it this way, not only because she was worried about Clint. Loki was a puzzle. The kind she preferred to be able to focus her attention on.

 _“All right, Loki,”_ she thought to herself, _“what exactly are you up to now?”_

*

Loki knew it was risky to travel without using any glamor.

He was an enemy in this world, a dangerous criminal. The reality of that had only become more clear when he had done some research into exactly what it was that his other self had already done.

But Loki was tired of being invisible. He wanted to interact with people; he wanted them to see him. He was tired of hiding in cold dark tunnels beneath the city, pretending he didn’t exist.

And he was well aware of the irony in him seeking his validation from New Yorkers, of all people. But even as they looked right by him, even as they walked around him like he wasn’t there, he could see it in their eyes. They had better things to do than directly acknowledge him, but they were at least _aware_ of his existence.

And Loki who was so, so lonely, and so, so tired of it, would take whatever he could get.

It was a hard life he had gone back to, having no friends and only enemies. He’d expected that. Planned for it. Tried to prepare himself. But it was difficult. And it _hurt_. And this one that he found himself in…it was worse than the one he remembered. Much worse.

He had played his part, scheming like a spider in its web, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Found a promising opening and let loose as much he could.

He had waited long as he could, but…two months was long enough, unfortunately. He still remembered the old days, what he had been like then. He wouldn’t have been able to keep quiet much longer than that. Especially if he was smarting from a recent near-miss, with a point to prove and an axe to grind.

It was a little chilling, that he could still make himself think that way and know what his old self would’ve done, with almost no effort on his part at all.

But what he had tried to make that other Loki see was true – he had been the same way, once. Still knew all the old tricks, the standbys, the old grudges. He had shaken it off, willingly, by choice – but he would never really lose it. His past was a shadow heavy and long, and it would follow him forever.

Which was why it felt suffocating, frightening, to be so fully plunged back in the middle of it.

He did his best to make a mess and a scene without truly hurting anyone. In a way he had actually, enjoyed it – it’d been a long time since he’d felt able to let go, become one with his chaotic side. To create so much delicious mayhem.

But the game had soured, and then turned into a nightmare as soon as the Avengers arrived.

He had expected anger, yes. For them to be combative. That would be just like old times. But oh, in the face of such hatred. And not just from anyone, either.

 _“You are no brother of mine,”_ Thor had yelled. And the fury in his eyes had backed it up.

After everything they had been through. After all that had been weathered in his own life, nothing had horrified Loki so much as this. He had wanted to stop the battle right there and beg for forgiveness. Anything, to fix whatever they had both done to each other, to reach a point that was so wrong.

But this other Loki had succeeded at the one thing he never could: somehow, he had gotten Thor to give up on him.

 _What have you done,_ Loki raged at the one who wasn’t there, bewailing the fate he had made for himself. _You cannot hope to survive without Thor! He is your stability, the light that will pull you out of your own darkness! Without his love, even unasked for, unwanted, you will go mad!_

But perhaps this other Loki was a madman already. It wasn’t hard to see why.

The longer Loki lived in his body and tried to fill his place, the more unhinged he had begun to feel himself.

He went back to the lair and sat on the damp floor in the dark, hugging his sides. Trying to wrap himself in the warm memories of his family to keep happy, and ward off the abyss inside of him.

But it wasn’t enough. And after three days he was ragged, worked to a razor’s edge. A voice in his mind had screamed at him that he needed to get _out_ of there.

Going back wasn’t an option. So he went to the surface, to play a different kind of pretend.

He shifted his clothes to modern human ones, tried to keep his face down, and avoided places where he knew that there would be cameras. He wasn’t worried about being directly recognized. Even after what he had done to their city, the people of Manhattan only knew him from faded images on the news – and in those pictures he was a leering, armored figure, laughing manically and larger than life.

They wouldn’t see him in the face of just another man, buying coffee at a Starbucks or throwing pennies into a public fountain. It was something he had oft taken advantage of, back when he was really running schemes of his own.

Today it just made him glad that he had options. That he could come in out of the cold and surround himself with life, if only for a little while.

It was clear that the other Loki knew nothing of mortal life on Earth. That he disdained everything to do with humans, and hadn’t yet bothered to learn. It was a shame for him – a big city like this was full of wonderful diversions.

He walked the Coney Island boardwalk, though that proved to be a mistake when the sound of children’s laughter reached him and the ensuing memories were too bittersweet. Instead he moved closer to the mainland, borrowing a stack of books from the Bryant Park library and sitting outside to read. After that he went to Times Square, smiling at the tourists and the spectacle. Not much had changed in thirty years; though some of the billboards now were rather different.

He was beginning to feel warm inside again, a listless sort of contentment. He went to buy a coffee, waiting in line and reading a newspaper just like anybody else, squeezed between bodies.

A song came on right after he had finished paying. Loki went still.

He knew this one; Darcy had taught it to him. Played it for him on her iPod, back when she was his only friend in the world - back when it had been them walking through cities like this together, laughing and telling stories and having their own small adventures.

Such a small, insignificant thing. But it was the crack in the dam that threatened to burst the whole thing wide open.

Loki’s hand clutched around the paper sleeve of his coffee. His throat went tight and his eyes burned. He realized he felt…so desperate. Like he was standing at the bottom of a gaping pit.

He ran, pushing his way through the people that muttered short, startled complaints, needing to get out of there. Feeling as if he was compressed, like he couldn’t breathe.

Soon he was outside, standing on the sidewalk, practically in the street. Gasping for air as he fought the urge to bend forward and clasp his hands to his knees.

He looked at the hand still clutching his cardboard and paper cup of coffee and realized he was shaking.

Loki drank his coffee, even though the taste no longer pleased him, and he made himself walk.

He found himself near Central Park again, and realized he had no memory of getting there. He had been moving like a man asleep, limbs working but eyes unseeing. He was trying so hard to shake off the chill of bitter cold, that came from nowhere around him but within.

He was bursting with such longing, a void in him he knew he had no way to fill. Not in this world, anyway.

Perhaps that knowledge was the worst – to know that nowhere in an entire reality did he have a single place he could turn to for companionship, even the most superficial kind.

Let alone the love and understanding he was craving.

He was looking at a hotdog stand, and he realized he’d been here once before. It had been a fall day, that he remembered, and he was talking to someone. Who had brought him here? Thor? Steve? Wanda?

Not sure what he was doing, Loki bought a hotdog. He went somewhere to sit down and eat it, but threw it away after one bite. His stomach revolted, twisting itself up in knots.

How had he ever lived this way before? How did _anyone?_

He was so lonely. He missed his mother, his father, his wife and babies. His missed Thor and all his friends, both mortal and Asgardian.

He had no one here. He had _nothing_ , and he wanted to go _home._

And because he was sitting on a bench in New York City, the place where everyone went out of their way to avoid looking at one another, Loki thought nothing of it when he gave in, just for one moment – put his head in his hands and sobbed.

*

Natasha had been spending hours trailing Loki, trying to figure out what he was doing out in the open. What his goal was.

That he was keeping a low profile for a change was – interesting but not entirely surprising. Loki was a schemer, a manipulator. She knew he had it in him. He just normally didn’t like to use it.

Seeing him in black jeans, doc martens and a hoodie, now _that_ was worthy of an eyebrow raise. But evidently he had decided there was an Earth look he liked besides a fancy three-piece suit.

Her first guess was he was on his way to a clandestine meeting. Maybe trying to collect some new muscle. The working theory over what had happened at the museum was that Loki had been trying to steal an artifact: the American Museum of Natural History had a massive collection of pieces representing cultures from all over the world, some of which had ceremonial, possibly magical value. If there was something in there Loki wanted, it might not be long before he tried to take a second shot.

But the day ticked by and not only did Loki not go near the museum, he didn’t seem to have any destination at all. Far as she could tell, he was just…wandering.

Several times Natasha wondered if he’d spotted her, if he was doing this to mess with her. But she reassured herself he couldn’t have. Besides, Loki was an asshole, but he ultimately liked orchestrating confrontations too much. He might have dragged her around for half an hour at most before he turned and faced her.

So she stayed put, climbing from one rooftop to the next. Sitting hunched and looking through binoculars, watching Loki as he read magazines, fed ducks at the park, and drank coffee.

(The last one made her itch, a little. She’d jumped through a whole time-zone to get here, going from middle of the night to afternoon. So she could maybe go for some caffeine, herself.)

Patience was a skill that had been hardwired into her. But the truth was, when it came to someone like this, a known enemy whose motives could be assumed to be nefarious regardless, sitting and waiting was not the route she preferred. It got under her skin.

She would much rather be _doing_. Draw a gun, or a knife, or syringe, and go down there to do what she was designed to: eliminate a target.

But those weren’t her orders, today. Orders were to not engage. So long as Loki wasn’t actively creating a threat to civilian life, it was more important to follow him than it was to stop him. To not lose him again, until the situation could be handled appropriately, and maybe find out what the hell he was up to in the meantime.

And save for rare circumstances, even when she didn’t like them, the Black Widow followed orders.

So she watched. She watched as Loki continued acting odd – even more so than he already had been, when he attacked them at the museum the other day; raised a lot of smoke and noise, but ultimately let them get away with comparatively a scratch.

Watched as he went about the city like he was simply enjoying his time there. Like he was relaxing and taking in the scenery. Like he was just…a person.

Natasha had started to get a funny feeling about this before everything, suddenly, changed. And she continued watching, intent and alert, taking in every detail.

Watching as Loki ran out of a coffee shop with a thousand yard stare blooming in his eyes, then strolled down the promenade like he had been turned into a zombie. Watching as he went and sat down, heavily, with an utterly dejected look on his face.

She was still sitting poised on a rooftop, looking from high above, muscles taut, eyes unblinking behind the binoculars while she watched…as Loki pressed his hands to his face, and started to cry.

A cold sweat was blooming along her shoulders, and a muscle tightened in reflexive anxiety in the center of her back.

She didn’t know what she was looking at it. But one thing was certain, it _meant_ something.

And her instincts were telling her something, too.

Putting her binoculars away, she pulled out a grappling hook.

Whatever was going on she didn’t think she was going to learn about it by hiding. By watching. So she was going to roll the dice and take an extreme chance. But strange times called for bold and stranger actions.

The Black Widow followed orders save for rare occasions. And this, right now, was one of those.

*

The first rule of the dance was: never try to play a player.

The second rule was never start buying into your own publicity.

From what she had seen of him, it’d become clear to Agent Romanov that Loki had broken that second rule. Started believing ardently in the hype; the idea of himself as a god of cunning, an embodiment of chaos.

So if he had already broken the second rule, then she saw no reason why she couldn’t break the first.

After all, he thought he was untouchable. It was with those types she tended to be the biggest success.

Not to say it was _easy_. She went into the room guarded and wary, knowing full well he was sealed tight inside a cell that was designed to contain a stronger monster – that part didn’t make any difference. He was awake, his eyes alert and canny.

He was thinking. He was speaking. So long as both were true, he was still a dangerous man.

Loki’s gaze was dark and glinted with that spark of greedy madness always in the eyes of the power-hungry. The sickly cast to his skin was heightened between the harsh lighting and the warped reflective properties of the glass, but it only made him look more unsettling, inhuman; not weak. His smile showed too many teeth, mean and slanted like a shark.

He was cold. He made her feel colder just being in proximity, and he sucked even more warmth out of the room the minute he started to speak. He never blinked, watching her, a calculating look that pierced through and analyzed in a heartbeat.

At least that was what he wanted anyone to think. And who knew, maybe it was true. She could see the bones of his technique enough to admire it.

If they were truly to match skills against each other, it would probably turn into an exhausting battle of wills. They’d be here all night.

But it was clear from the start the Loki wasn’t bringing his A-game to the table. Whatever he’d heard about her – whatever he claimed Clint had told him – evidently he’d only absorbed enough to think he knew about her, and not enough to impress him.

He thought he knew what he was looking at when she showed her open palm. Heard the sincerity in her words and didn’t keep looking for that second layer, the hidden purpose.

Apparently he was so prepared for a straightforward interrogation that he didn’t even consider the little humans might try a different kind. And even though she’d just shown herself able of creeping up on him, he still didn’t consider her capable.

She came in swinging, but Loki didn’t even realize this was a fight. Had his guard down from the get-go, because he thought all they were having was a conversation.

She was too used to it, too unmoving to feel insulted. And she certainly wasn’t foolish enough to feel disappointed, either. If Loki was going to leave himself wide open for her then she’d take the shot.

She enjoyed the dance, it was true. But not so much she was above taking an easy mark when it presented itself.

That was common sense and survival, and those were just as important as all the tricks in the book.

So she let him rattle the saber, enjoying the sense that he was frightening her – she let that fear in, in controlled, calculated amounts, so it registered on her face. Let her heartbeat rise and her palms start to sweat, let her thoughts go to Clint and picture some of the things she was trying not to picture.

It was dangerous to give even that small amount of honesty away. It was regrettable. She consoled herself with the knowledge that it was absolutely working.

Her quarry was letting himself get nasty and crude, getting too caught up in the moment, drunk on his own sense of power and importance. Low blows that took away from his sinister, otherworldly aura. Made him too “human”, so to speak.

Men would always be men, she figured; even when they were aliens. Even when they were gods.

Loki was on the edge, reveling; one step away from stepping too far. She could always tell when someone was right about to give away something important – she just knew. So she turned her back, the better to make her real tears seem realer still.

It turned out that that was a mistake.

Her senses never warned her that something had gone wrong, and that was the most alarming part in the aftermath. There was a faint, unexpected sound from inside the plexiglas prison cell – it only registered too late as a second set of footsteps, a pair that shouldn’t be there. That sound was followed up by Loki’s voice cutting out abruptly, last syllable hanging in the air with a startled note. And then there was another sound, loud, a wet crunch.

Natasha whirled back around, wary, because she knew a neck snapping when she heard one.

She was just in time to watch Loki’s body drop sideways with a heavy thud, face frozen in a surprised expression, eyes facing the wrong way.

There was a woman standing directly behind him, staring back at her. A woman that had come out of nowhere, dressed all in black.

She drew her gun and had it pointed too fast to even bother thinking about. A shot couldn’t reach through that clear barrier, but maybe the other didn’t know that. Either way she needed some response to the unknown threat.

But the woman gave her a gaze that was even more dismissive than Loki’s had been.

“Put it away, little soldier girl. I’m not here for you.”

She looked down with measured scrutiny at the lifeless body sprawled just inches from the toes of her boots.

“You know,” she remarked, “it really is disquieting, how many times I’ve been able to take him by surprise completely.” She looked back up, grin splitting with a sardonic cruelty. “So careless to keep surrounding himself with so many distractions.”

The room was split with a short laugh – a single, punctuated _ha!_ – and then the air wavered oddly, like it was above asphalt on a hot sunny day. Not looking away completely Natasha took the calculated risk of dividing her attention, pressing the finger of her free hand to her concealed earpiece.

“I’ve got a situation down here.”

 _“Copy,”_ Fury’s voice came back immediately. _“Do you need backup?”_

“I’m not sure. I-”

There was another strange sound – and this one truly defied description. She looked back up, only to realize that the strange woman was gone. The only occupant left in the cell was Loki’s prone body.

Natasha looked down, seeing her own face reflected faintly across his in the glass, as she met his lifeless gaze.

“I don’t really know what just happened down here,” she continued. “But I think the game has definitely changed.”

*

The light from the sun was growing more golden in the sky over Manhattan as the day stretched on towards impending night. The tears on Loki’s face had long since dried and been wiped away.

As he had thought, not a person gave him so much as a second glance as he’d sat on the bench in his all-consuming misery. No one had stopped, no one had looked.

However once he resumed walking, it wasn’t long before he felt a creeping feeling up the back of his neck, and realized he had not escaped _someone’s_ notice.

He wasn’t certain how long it had been going on – and he cursed himself, fretting, the instant he had the thought. He’d believed he was being careful, but obviously there had been some blind spot in his guard.

But panic and self-recrimination wouldn’t do him any good. He walked along, continuing his pace with the same seeming indifference, acting as if nothing had changed. All the while he swiftly scanned the area around him, trying to catch any tell-tale sign of who his shadow was.

His counter’s career in this world was still a young one. He’d not made so many wide-spread enemies yet. It seemed unlikely there existed any one individual with the resources and determination to come after him.

It was possible this was no random incident, and that thought made Loki’s heart pound. Was this Selene? Had she found her way to him at last, far faster than he had anticipated and with even less warning than there should have been?

He turned his head, sharply scanning the faces around him. But he caught nothing. No obvious movement, no eyes that too closely met his.

Whoever it was they were masters at hiding themselves.

He turned, heading away from the main fair through. If there was to be a confrontation, it wouldn’t do to have it out in the open.

He kept walking, head down, shoulders raised, as the streets grew ever more quiet and empty around him. All the while he could still feel that invisible presence pointed his way, and he knew that his unknown opponent still dutifully tracked his movements.

At last he stood in an empty alleyway, nothing around but bare bricks walls and trash scattered near his feet. The scene was illuminated by a single streetlight.

Picking his spot to stand his ground, in a flash of green and golden light Loki shifted his clothing to the travelling armor his double wore most often. He waited – and just as he was on the verge of demanding out loud that whoever it was show themselves, he heard the sound of soft footsteps behind him on the concrete.

Loki turned, and couldn’t quite conceal the surprise from his face when he saw Natasha Romanov.

She nodded her head slightly, manner calm but silent as she offered him only the greeting as preamble.

The two of them stood a fair distance apart facing each other in the dying light.

He eyed her warily, attempting to get a read on the situation. In this reality, they were supposed to be enemies, but there was something clearly…unique about these circumstances. It just felt ‘off’.

“Well now.” He smirked, playing it safe for now by hiding behind his role. “What an unexpected delight. It’s not easy to sneak up on me.”

There was an odd meaningful edge to her smile and tone as she replied, “I know.”

“And why, I wonder, is the Black Widow following me?” he mused aloud, betraying his intrigue but not his concern. “Clearly you can’t be here to try and bring me in. You’d need the others of your so-called Avengers to do that.”

“That would be the assumption,” she calmly agreed.

“So.” He tilted his head up. “The master spy, then, is doing just that. You’re keeping an eye on me. Trying to stay one step ahead. Uncover what grandiose schemes I may be plotting. Figure out what I’m going to do next.”

“Yes,” she said, neither blinking an eye nor giving denial any pretense. “It’s too risky for the team to engage you full-scale in the middle of a civilian area. SHIELD tasked me with watching you in the meantime. To try and keep the situation under control.”

“Ah…but then, Agent Romanov: how can you do that, if you’re right in front of me? Now that I know that you’re there,” he asked with great meaning, and no little interest. “How do you intend to watch when you’ve broken cover and given up your advantage?”

There was no reply at first, save only the quiet hiss of the wind that licked around both their heels, scattering paper and other refuse.

She stood there with her boots apart, feet planted firmly on the ground. Stood there with head lifted and gaze unwavering, as she stared across the short distance facing down what she knew as a monster that had tried to ravage her entire planet.

Fiery red locks, still wavy but worn shorter than he remembered in his own world, were blown to one side and partly in front of her face, though she did not blink. She wore an open trenchcoat over her black armor. Armor he called it, though it would not be recognized as such to the sight of an Asgardian, nor perhaps to the eyes of many. But though it offered only slight physical protection it was a uniform, designed for combat and action, and wearing it marked her as what she was: a warrior of the first degree.

And wasn’t that symbolic purpose the first and foremost point of any helm?

“Like I said,” she told him, “I was sent to watch. And so watch you I have been – for hours now. For the better part of the day.”

He felt an unrest, a creeping feel of illness that any witnessed what he’d hoped was freedom, and privacy. But it was a trespass he couldn’t in good conscience avenge.

“Go on,” he prompted.

She folded her arms. The gesture seemed more pensive than defensive. “What I’ve seen has been…interesting. You’re acting what I would call out of character. You’re not at all like your usual self.” She shook her head.

“And what concern is that of yours?”

“It’s not concern. It’s an opportunity.” She dropped her arms to her side again. “I don’t know what’s going on. But obviously, it’s a rare moment. One that seems to be outside of the usual rules of engagement.”

The Black Widow extended a gloved hand in gesture.

“And so, I thought we could try something different for a change. And talk.”

 _“Talk?”_ He laughed – it wasn’t just the reaction of the man he pretended to be that drew the sound from him. Though it would have been with more bitterness, was it only his own. “In the midst of everything that has passed between us, you think a simple conversation is possible? That we may simply, for the moment, raise a flag of truce?”

“It’s a crazy plan,” she agreed. “And one that doesn’t make a lot of sense. But not much around here does, anymore. I’m willing this once to risk it on a gamble. So why not?”

Loki swallowed, trying to keep his desperation and loneliness buried in his chest where they couldn’t betray him. Trying to keep hope at bay, so it could not blind his eyes.

But her face was composed – and curious. By every sign he could read, it seemed she was willing to listen.

 _You do not need to be alone in this,_ a voice urged him. _You could have your single port in the storm. An ally, in this…farce. Someone who doesn’t have to hate you; or who, at the very least, will know you for yourself._

“Ah,” he raised both his hands, still uncertain, “but why should I feel inclined to tell you anything? And if I do, what moves me to speak truths? And perhaps most pressing of all, mortal – what should make either of us think you’d trust a single word I have to say?”

“I don’t have answers to any of those questions,” she replied. “The fact is, they’re pretty good ones. All I can do is repeat what I’ve already said: Why not?”

Loki stared at her. She was, he could see, a woman who never fully let her guard down. But it was as down as she could let it be, waiting on him. Ready and willing, with perhaps an open heart and mind.

And despite all his former resolution to walk this road alone, it proved too strong a temptation for Loki to bear. As the woman said, he took a gamble – chancing that everything he’d undertaken wouldn’t be destroyed in a single act.

“Know this then Natasha Romanov, once called Natalia Romanova, and uncounted other names,” he pronounced with all due solemnity, feeling the rush of nerves and power that came to any god delivering a prophecy. “I am not the Loki of this world, but of the one that touches on yours, who you glimpsed previously for a short span of time. I am not who you think, but standing in his place, as he even now is far and away, in mine.”

She took that in, slowly canting her head to one side. He could see machinations in her clear green eyes, as thoughts quickly flitted about. Considering.

“I see,” she offered, finally. “That does make sense. Really, it explains a lot. So: you switched places?”

“More than that. We switched our very selves.” Holding his hands up again he glanced at them briefly. “This is his body, his magic. Strands of his soul still cling to it. By doing this, mingling our essences, it makes the trail there is to follow more…murky. We hoped it might ultimately confuse Selene and in the process save us both.”

Her face remained blank and he couldn’t read what emotion lay in her eyes. “You might be different, but the Loki of my world doesn’t aspire much to acts of helpfulness or compassion. Even, I think, to another of version of himself.”

“No. Nor do I have much interest to put myself out of the way in helping him,” he told her honestly. “We both acted out of self-preservation. It only happened to meet in joint interest.”

She turned aside, lightly using the back of one hand to brush the hair out of her face. She nodded.

“Okay,” she said. “I believe you.”

She began to walk, pausing to make a shrugging motion, indicating she expected him to follow. The light leading out of the alley framed her where she stood like a doorway.

“Come on. I think we’ve both had our fill of places like this, for today. Let’s continue this somewhere a bit more scenic.”

Feeling light-headed, so breathlessly relieved it was literally painful, Loki followed her lead.

They ended up on the rooftop of a building, a flat expanse offering nothing but isolation and the security that they didn’t have to worry about being overheard. That and one thing more: a passably nice view of the skyline, guarded over by the sun now hanging quite low and growing lower.

Loki could’ve teleported, spared them the trouble of walking, sneaking and climbing. But he didn’t offer. It would be an unnecessary test, for both to have to decide if the Black Widow was ready to completely trust him or not. Gauche and unwanted, for either of them.

They sat down at the edge of the roof, unbothered by the height and the dizzying fall implied below. The distance between them was conversational – downright companionable. The slightest effort on either of their parts and their elbows would touch.

What a strange sight, Loki mused, they would make if anyone happened to come upon them.

The mortal woman looked at him again, even seated having to lift her head upward to meet his eyes. “All right. Now why don’t you tell me what’s going on, in detail.”

Loki laced his fingers within his lap, shoulders lowered, body language non-confrontational. It was so refreshing, not having to feint being angry and authoritarian with every muscle of his being.

“I believe I already did as much. I am here, forced to act best as he would in order to make our deception believable – for which I do not apologize, though hopefully my restraint speaks to my benefit.”

She nodded. “It does. Really, that was the first clue that something had to be going on. Don’t get me wrong, you did a good job of posturing; but it seemed more than coincidence that you let so many people live. Our Loki doesn’t give much thought for sparing innocent bystanders.” She glanced away, idly. “Or collateral damage of public property, for that matter.”

Loki had to smile at that, twisted. “I can imagine. After all, I was as he is, once. There were times I’d have considered it a mark of pride to leave no survivors. But this is an ugly road it hurts me to tread once more – and what I have that passes for conscience would not allow me to sink so low again.”

She smiled wryly. “A fact for which I’m grateful. But what I’m asking about isn’t what’s happened between you and him. I’m asking about Selene.”

“Why?” Loki murmured. “You know everything about the circumstance that you need to.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that,” she insisted in return. “And I think you of all people might be able to appreciate that when you’re dealing with an unknown player, any information you can gather looks pretty attractive.”

He smiled back, nodding in shrewd acknowledgement. “Well spoken, Agent. As you say, you do indeed make a fine point.”

“Natasha,” she corrected. At his surprised look, she merely repeated the mantra of, “Why not?”

“All right,” he began, slow and not sure where to begin. “Selene is…she is a being of dark nature and great power. She is a sorceress, ancient even by my standards. She keeps herself alive by feeding on others.”

“All of which I already know. Or did you think I wasn’t listening, when you and your friends paid us a visit? I want more details. We know she’s trying to kill you. That she wants it so badly she’s hopping across realities and practicing on every other you that crosses her path. What I want to know is why.”

Loki sighed, closing his eyes as he prepared himself for what was going to be a long story.

“Unless I miss my guess, some scholars on your world have uncovered evidence that once there existed a time that everything you already know of history tells you should not be…when monsters and men lived in close contact, barbarian kings going questing and ruling over empires that used sorcery and sword to go to war. I suspect you, however, have heard of this, because the agency you serve is playing a hand in keeping these discoveries suppressed. So as to not _alarm_ the general public.”

“They call it the Hyborian Age,” Natasha recalled. “What of it?”

“Selene was born in that time. Already a monster at birth, gifted with the ability to feed on the energy of others, killing them and giving herself strength. She ate of her own people until they were no more, and then walked the earth for hundreds of years. She lived for the sake of living – and nothing else.

“Survival and gaining more power, that’s all that drives her. And she is ruthless in it. At times she has played at being a queen, even a god, but she gives it up every time the role threatens to crush her and make her end.”

Loki settled himself back, hands gripping the concrete edge of the roof palm-down.

“It was during this time she met Odin, King of Asgard, eons before he would be known as All-Father. Long before our race would walk among the people you know as Vikings, who would make up their stories and raise us to the height of gods. Odin faced Selene, and lost.”

“Lost? But she didn’t kill him. Unless there’s something I missed.”

“No, he lived, of course. But so did she. And so it could hardly be called a victory, not when she had taken so much in the process. Two Asgardian lives she had claimed, Vili and Ve. Not brothers to Odin in blood, but in spirit. As dear a blow as any she could have paid on him.

“She murdered them because she wanted their power and strength. Killed them because she could, and it suited her to do so. The worst kind of death, for men that live in pursuit of glory: impersonal and meaningless. Odin lost those halves to his heart for nothing. Can you imagine his fury? His desire for her head?”

Long tale or not, Loki was growing into his element now, reaching within to spin the words with ease. What were lies but crafted stories, after all, and what was a liar but an especially gifted bard?

“And his kinsmen were not the only casualties. There was a woman warrior, a friend to Odin – Brynhild. Selene killed the man that she loved. And so the two rode together, their armies at their backs, ready to face the monster that was their enemy.

“But Selene did not stand and fight. Instead she snuck into Brynhild’s village while they were away. She killed Brynhild’s younger sister – and every non-warrior in their village. Down to the last infant and child. She left nothing for their people to come back to.

“And then in the face of this absolute desolation, Selene simply…disappeared. Ran to the winds and went elsewhere, leaving no trace. Not giving them the satisfaction of even a conclusion.”

“A compelling story,” said Natasha, who’d been listening the whole time in attentive silence. “But I can’t help but notice you don’t feature anywhere in it.”

“Oh, but I do. For I am Odin’s son, and every battle he has fought is part of my legacy. This one almost more than any other. It was because I was Odin’s son that Selene and I then crossed swords.”

Seeing they were coming to the heart of it, she nodded, wordlessly indicating he should go on.

“We crossed paths by chance. We quarreled. She wanted my power, but fearing the possibility of reprisal, tried to defeat me by submission instead. Bound me, humiliated me. Of course I broke free – and when I did, I wanted to destroy her for what she’d done. I was a vengeful creature then, towards any slight – still am, to tell the truth, but our faults are always in our youth magnified. I vowed on everything to make her pay.”

“So you fought her yourself, to another standstill,” Natasha concluded.

“I wanted to kill her. Wanted to, but could not. So I was forced to seal her away; imprison her in a world that it would not be hyperbolic to describe to you as a kind of hell.” Loki’s hands clenched into fists. “I knew this day would likely come. But I never imagined it would be like this. That I would have so much to lose if I failed to defeat her.”

“Are you going to be able to?” she asked with inquiring pragmatism. “If you couldn’t before…have you grown stronger?”

“Yes. But I can’t help fearing it may not be enough.” Loki’s voice was bleak, but he steeled his determination. “It doesn’t matter. Even if I ultimately lose my own life, I must destroy her this time. There can be no other way.”

“How come?”

He shook his head, trying to make her see. She was smart – he knew that she could understand, if only he found the words.

“Let me return a moment to the story of Brynhild and her people. A tribe whose ways have long been lost to the workings of time. You would’ve liked them, I think – amongst their people it was the women who held the martial role and the men who gathered, who worked the homestead. The women rode out to fight that day and Selene slaughtered their husbands, brothers, fathers and sons. What do you suppose became of them after that?”

She frowned, looking almost impatient. “In a stone age world? It would be easy for them to regroup. Find some other tribe to be absorbed by, especially if they were all women.”

“Maybe so. But Odin saw another way. He looked around, and saw them broken, everything they valued from their way of life ground into dust. In place of the existence they’d lost he gave them a new one. He took them to Asgard, let them serve as his honor guard – even gave them access to Idunn, the tree whose golden blessing prolongs life. And so they were there when we met the Norsemen; a convey of women in shining armor astride white horses, riding into battle with fair hair streaming, with eyes fierce and deadly.”

“The…the Valkyries?” Natasha realized. “He made them into the Valkyries?”

“As recompense. For what had been taken, fighting alongside him. Brynhild lived a long and glorious life, but I would not call it a happy one. She never married. She never fell in love again. Selene killed her heart, her soul.”

Loki breathed in, fighting back a shudder. “That is what Selene is. She is corruption, venomous rot. She always makes her enemies suffer by taking what is most dear to them. She is destruction incarnate, leaving a desolate waste in her wake. And this… _cancer_ would be unleashed on my loved ones. My _family_. That is what awaits if I fail to stop her.”

He pounded a fist into his side. “So, no. I will not let it happen. I will defeat her, no matter the cost.”

She tilted her head in acknowledgement, canny. “Even if it means driving yourself insane in the process?”

Loki had to smile at her, wanly. “I confess, I…do not relish being your Avengers’ enemy. And glad I am, that I can speak to you honestly, and reveal my true face.”

He sighed, rolling his shoulders, working free a crick he didn’t think was entirely physical.

“This life does not sit well on me. And the ill-fit takes more of a toll than I anticipated.”

“It’s nice getting to talk to you, too,” she replied. “Sort of a novelty, getting so many straight answers at once.”

“Especially from me, I imagine?” he said with a dark sort of humor.

“Absolutely.” That cool, curious smile of hers quirked again. “But it can’t be easy for you, either. To have your own friends hate you.”

“It would be charitable to call the Avengers where I come from my friends,” he said, his smile grimly disappearing. “We have a volatile peace. There’s some name-calling whenever I’m among them – they trust me, after a fashion, but most of the originals do not like me. I respect them, but in truth I don’t desire their love. They are my brother’s friends.”

“Except for Captain Rogers.”

“You noticed that?” Loki smiled again, tainted by loss and longing. “Yes, true. Steve was one of the first to extend a hand and believe in the possibility of my fresh start. It turned out we had some things in common. It was an unlikely beginning to a friendship, but it has endured.”

“And what _about_ your brother?” Natasha continued, pointed. “Our Thor is getting more hostile to his Loki by the day. That can’t be easy, after how hard you must’ve fought to get back together in the first place.”

Loki winced, having to turn away. He tried not to be angry at her going straight to his worst wounds. She wanted information, and honesty. Besides – it still felt a bit better, to talk.

“Thor is…my other half,” he said, voice hoarse. “The light to my dark, the laughter to my tears. Even when I wanted him to fight me, there was always the conceit in my mind we were as two sides to the same coin. I don’t think I ever really believed we could be torn asunder.” He paused. “It is…distressing to see that it can be accomplished. To know how close we came to disaster.”

Natasha waited before she said anything else, at first. Giving him a moment and space to mull over his painful thoughts, to recollect himself.

“I don’t know what kind of a history you have with my counterpart in your own dimension,” she began. “But I could never imagine the Loki I know speaking to me this way. Without any posturing, with such concern for anyone beside himself. I know you were like him, once. But were you really…like him?”

“Not exactly,” he had to admit. “I caused hurt and I was cruel, to be sure. But I had…limits. Restraints, even minor ones, that I think he lacks.” He’d researched what he’d done to this Earth, and paled in horror at the face of it. “I can see _how_ he was pushed to this, but…”

“But you were never pushed,” she finished.

Loki nodded again, slow. “My hands have blood on them. But he has knelt to soak his entire arms past the elbow in the carnage. He has gone so far past where I ever would have tread. I don’t know how much civility or even _sanity_ remains in him.” This time he shook his head. “He is like the darkest possible mirror of my inner self.”

“Why did you turn out so different? I thought you two had the same history, to a point. Our worlds are close parallels, after all. But how did he get so much worse?”

“At first I thought it was because of Selene, actually,” Loki explained. “She did not exist in your world. And what happened with her and me…changed me. Looking back, I think it might’ve actually been the beginning.”

He cast his memories back, to those early days. Days he had been revisiting often of late.

“When she made me weak, she took away my memories, for a time. Though I hated her dearly for the transgression then, it meant that I got to re-experience life without the weight of my rage, without the fear that minus the darkness there would be nothing left to me. I was shown firsthand that yes; I could still know happiness, I could still know love.

“It took me a long, long time to come around into accepting that truth. But I never would’ve seen it to begin with, were it not for Selene. Such irony that my worst enemy granted me such a boon without even realizing it.”

Natasha spoke carefully, “You said that you _thought_ it was her, at first.”

“Selene was not the only difference.” Loki frowned. “Thor might have told you that I fell from the Bifrost, into the void of chaos and nothingness that exists between worlds. Into that blackest pit I tumbled, experiencing things you can’t imagine, that still now I can’t even begin to describe.”

He closed his eyes, teeth grit as he tried to talk about it without thinking on it too much detail. If he wasn’t careful his own tortured screams would begin to echo in his mind.

“I didn’t fall for long. But there is no time there – it is endless. In that abyss I had only my own mind to keep myself company, my recent hurts to dwell on even as the isolation threatened to make them worse.”

He inhaled, filling his lungs, forcing his focus onto acknowledging everything around him that was solid, that was real. That wasn’t the gaping cold of the clutching void.

“I landed on Midgard, unsettled by my experience, thrown further into disarray – but ultimately, I think, not too permanently scarred. I do not think the same can be said for my other.”

“He sure didn’t arrive on Earth,” she remarked discerningly. “At least not right away. You think he fell further.”

“The more I see, the more certain of it I become.” Loki raised a hand, looking not at it but the tendrils of snaking energy he could feel writhing beneath. “I can sense it, in his magic, his very essence. There is the touch of it about him still. It _marked_ him. He must’ve spent much longer in that--”

“Place that isn’t really a place?”

“Oh, my dear. I hate to sound condescending, truly. But you can never know.” His head shook. “You can imagine, but you can _never_ know. Who knows how long he spent there, from his perspective, with that nothingness eating into him like an acid, wrapping him in isolation and his memories, warping and twisting what had already begun to go wrong?”

He looked up toward the setting sun, the black of night creeping on the horizon from the bottom up.

“And then he landed…somewhere, that I have probably never seen. A lost and disoriented boy, with a bottomless well of pain to lash out with, so very far from home.”

The woman too looked up and away, contemplating both the subject and the view. “We know there was someone working with him, when he used the Tesseract to get to Earth,” she told Loki. “We don’t know _who_. But from what we can gather, it had to be someone pretty potent. Probably not anyone you’d want to be friends with.”

Again she reached, absently, to remove her hair from her face.

“Whether that other Loki ended up in his hands while he was still reeling, vulnerable, or found his way to him after he had to fight a way through a hundred strange worlds…either way. We’ve both seen the result.”

“Do you pity him now, Agent Romanov?” he questioned.

“No. I don’t believe in pity. No matter what,” she answered without hesitation. “But having met you, hearing your story – and being able to recognize certain pieces of you within him, I do see him differently. We are what we do with our own choices. No matter the hardships. But it’s clear that he had some pretty shoddy material to work with.”

She paused.

“And I told you, it’s Natasha.”

He made a soft sound at that, an enthralled chuckle that wasn’t quite there.

“I pity him myself, in case you’re curious. But only because I know how much it would enrage him. And because I can’t quite help it. I know his suffering all too well. Though I feel more horror than sympathy, looking at the shreds of what he’s made of himself.”

Loki’s arms went to his grasp opposite biceps on either side, almost hugging himself as he shivered, reflexively. This was an awful, awful life in which the other had chosen to build his nest.

“His way is dark and narrow. And he has determinedly burned every bridge he might find that could one day lead him back.”

“Assuming Selene doesn’t murder him first,” Natasha said, bringing them back to a more relevant subject at hand. “Though come to think of it, that reminds me. I thought you said revenge wasn’t her style.”

“I said that I fell through a void when I was between worlds – fell down and down, with my guilt and grief ringing in my ears.” Loki met her gaze with wide severity. “Selene, however, _crawled.”_

“Ah,” she said; succinct and ripe with the beginnings of understanding.

“She started at the bottom and had to writhe and claw her way up,” he continued. “That blackness swallowed me whole but she had to fight, ripping through it by force. Its madness and bleakness has touched her too, and I’ve no doubt left her much worse for the experience. Her coldblooded practicality is gone now, replaced by dire thirst for vengeance.”

The mortal spy nodded.

“And so here we both are.”

“Here we both are.” Loki couldn’t help but consider that. “You were never counted amongst my worst enemies, Agent Romanov. But neither were we anything like friends. I am glad that among all the blows this borrowed life has dealt me, at least it has given me this.”

And before she could say it, he corrected himself softly. “Natasha.”

She smiled at that, an expression that lingered somewhere between a beam and a smirk. Loki liked that.

“I’m actually quite glad too. Though something tells me the other Loki won’t be having the same luck in your life,” she mused. “If anything, he might be turning some of _your_ friends into enemies.”

“I hope not.” Loki set his teeth. “He promised to behave as if nothing had changed, as did I. Still, his nature, I fear, will be very ill-suited to such home comforts. But I trust – I pray – any harm he does will be within my power to set right.”

“You don’t think he’ll enjoy getting to be a prince again?”

“He’s been a king,” Loki reminded her. “Or at least, he likes to think of himself as one. But it’s not that which will be hardest for him to bear. Love is anathema to someone so pledged to hatred. Being held so warmly will…chafe.”

Natasha decided, not unkindly, “I guess you would know.”

Loki nodded, feeling a bit weary again as he thought of home.

“There was a time when even if I was surrounded by those whose approval I once sought, I’d never be able to embrace it. My family is a blessing, a bounty if he could only bear to let himself partake.”

His voice soured, grew hard.

“But I think he’ll be far more likely to spit on the offering.”

*

“Father, are you upset with me?”

Loki tried not to squirm under the question – one that, by now, he was getting frankly tired of hearing.

But at one point or another over the past few weeks, every one of the five children that considered him a parent had turned to him with beseeching eyes, and in a quiet voice had asked it.

He knew not how to satisfy their needs, to keep them at bay. But he tried to be reassuring. Promising each of them that no, he was just tired; no, he had other things on his mind. No, he simply wasn’t in the mood for their antics. It would be fine, later – all they had to do was be good now, run along and play.

Each child had nodded, and left him alone. But they had cast sideways glances, clearly not convinced.

It frustrated Loki. It should be the easiest thing in the world to fool _children_. So why then could he never say what they needed to sate their simple, greedy little hearts?

And what threatened to bother him more, if he would only let it, was his faint recollection of once saying those very same words – at the feet of the All-Father, his voice small and his eyes timid and pleading.

Loki never let such thoughts tarry long, tearing them away with quick and brutal violence.

This afternoon he was seated at a small table in a parlor room, arm propped up on the nearby surface and chin resting in his hand. Unable to disguise he was being tormented by wretched boredom.

His younger daughter (who had actually been permitted to be named _Fandra_ ) had dragged him into playing a round of board games with her. She had seemed so eager, so expectant, that Loki could find no convincing way to extract himself from the situation.

And so they had played. First it had been two rounds of games obviously of mortal design – gaudy imports made of plastic and brightly colored cardboard. Despite not knowing the rules Loki had been able to navigate them with relative ease, for they were simple and easily gleaned. One had involved a strange maze of serpents and ladders; in the other the object had been the sinking of a small fleet of enemy warships.

Next had been a card game and here Loki fell into a bit of trouble, not being able to tell how they kept score. But the odds slowly turned in his favor once it became clear deception was part of the object – and his opponent was a _terrible_ bluffer, for being supposedly of his issue.

Finally he found himself on familiar ground when was produced a game of hnefatafl. Though the respite, he soon realized, turned out to be less than complete.

Three rounds they had played across the board, moving their pieces to and fro. And three times, despite the chances offered up by the dice, Loki had delivered a crushing defeat.

The girl was so incredibly bad at hnefatafl it was actually causing Loki pain to be stuck playing her. She was impulsive, easily flustered, and had no head for strategy. He had once thought no one could be worse at this game than Thor. But in this respect she had completely outdone her uncle. He was truly aghast.

“What – I’m losing _again?_ ” she cried, realizing too late that Loki had out-maneuvered her in a way she had no hope to counter.

“I am afraid so, my sweet,” Loki murmured, eyes half-closed, praying this would finally fob her off for the rest of the day. “Maybe next time pay better attention to the edges.”

The girl had sat there with her hands in her lap, staring at the board in unhappy silence.

And finally she had looked back up at him, and asked _that_ question.

“Father,” she began, uncertain, “are you upset with me?”

Taken aback, Loki rubbed at the space between his eyes “It’s all right,” he muttered. “Don’t be silly. Not everyone is good at hnefatafl.”

“I know that, but…but…” She bit her lip. “That isn’t what I mean.”

Loki frowned. “I really don’t follow.”

She really did look _so_ much like her mother. The eyes that gazed at him were blue and wide and, he realized slowly, rimmed with confused hurt.

“Of course I know how clever you are. But, it isn’t _fair._ Don’t you at least usually _try_ to let me win?” she demanded. “Not even _once?_ ”

It dawned on Loki that he had been supposed to go easy on her.

“You’re not a child anymore,” he told her, trying for firm authority. “It’s time you understood that, princess or no, life isn’t just going to hand you everything.” He scowled. “Honestly. It wouldn’t hurt you once in a while to _apply_ yourself.”

She stared at him. And then, speechless, she pushed her chair back and hurried out. He could see tears blooming already in her eyes.

 _Has my soft-hearted self raised nothing but spoiled brats?_ Loki thought in exasperation.

Oh well. At least he was finally free. Standing up with a huff and a sigh, Loki left the room and headed off in the opposite direction.

He had been wandering the halls for some minutes when he heard a voice calling to him.

“Oh hey there, you.”

Stiffening he turned, and saw Darcy watching him from a doorway. But her gaze was teasing, sensual, where she peered at him from between thick folds of a curtain.

“Hello, lover-boy,” she said coquettishly. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Oh have you now?” Loki smirked, rising to meet her tone with ease. It still wearied him, how she dogged his every footstep, but if she was going to drag him into bed sport again he’d admit he would go with fairly little resistance. “And why is that, I wonder?”

“Well, why don’t you come over here,” she called, stepping back and vanishing from sight, “and find out?”

He slunk after her inside. The room was dark, alone, relatively unfurnished – they were in an isolated part of the palace, unlikely to be interrupted. Just the two of them and black curtains and low candlelight.

Darcy came towards him, smirking, hands tucked out of sight behind her back.

He surveyed her, reaching to press a hand against her cheek in a passably affectionate gesture.

Overall she was nothing particularly special: a platter of overripe, low-hanging fruit. But in this monotonous world she served as a decent distraction – and that, he figured, was good enough for him.

Even as he caressed her the mortal kept walking forward, her body leaning into his, until she had coaxed Loki backward, starting to press him up against the wall.

“Now, now,” Loki murmured, feigning the amorous anticipation it was to be supposed he should feel. “What are you up to?”

“Let’s just say – I’ve got a surprise for you. A very special one at that.”

He was pinned now in the corner, door just out of reach to his left, her body though smaller successfully keeping him caged. Loki was waiting to see what would happen next.

And in an instant, the look on the woman’s face changed completely.

She produced a dagger from behind her and before he could react she pressed to the base of Loki’s throat.

With a startled sound he tilted his head back, having to breathe carefully around the point of the blade. It looked like one of his old throwing knives – but it was still honed very sharp, and considering where it was pointed risk of injury was not trifling.

Gone was the warmth and playful lust from Darcy’s eyes. They were narrowed in steely accusation, mouth turned in something almost like a snarl.

“All right. I _know_ you’re not my husband. Took me longer than I’d like, but I figured it out. So who the hell are you?” she demanded. “And what have you done with Loki?”

Not being the first time Loki had a blade to his neck, his first thought was to try to reason with her.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I think there’s been some misunderstanding…”

He was forced to stop as she pressed her weapon down.

“Don’t even try it. Loki’s the one who taught me how to handle a knife – and what I didn’t learn from him, I learned from Sif.”

She was physically weaker and far smaller than he was, but he was forced to concede this was not an easy position to escape from. He could see her grip on the hilt was secure. Any attempt to disarm her or twist free of her grasp might not be fast enough to halt her strike.

He didn’t think she could really _kill_ him. But if he teleported away with a bleeding throat – it would be _inconvenient_ , to say the least.

“Now you had better answer me,” she continued. “I want to know who you are!”

Well, the game had been interesting while it lasted. And out of all people he never would’ve expected the mortal to ferret him out. But maybe it _was_ time to drop the charade.

Like peeling back a mask Loki smiled at her, letting show his malevolence and disdain. He could see her breath catch in a start.

“I _am_ Loki. Just not he that you call ‘husband’. I hail from another world, close to yours. Though,” he turned taunting, “I would be careful what you do with that blade of yours. This is still _his_ body. And I’ve gathered you seem rather fond of it.”

She flinched back, revulsion flickering across her face. “What the fuck? Are you _possessing_ him?”

He laughed. “No. He and I have merely switched places – a rather desperate attempt to escape detection by Selene. But don’t blame me – it was his idea.”

“No way. You’re lying,” she argued. “He wouldn’t do something like that. Not without telling me first.”

Loki looked at her askance, half-feigning pensive softness. “Wouldn’t he?”

“No…unless,” she wavered, “he thought that he had to.” She sighed: dejected, sinking realization. “If he really believed there was no other way.”

“Just so,” Loki agreed. “Now, that that’s settled…”

Taking advantage of her distraction he slipped from her grasp, pushing her back from him rather roughly.

Standing there he made a show of brushing off his clothes with a dismissive sniff.

“You have been in the habit of putting your hands on me quite a bit, human. I think that I’ve put up with it enough, for a while.”

Arm’s reach away now she still held the knife out in her hand, wary.

“This isn’t over,” she insisted. “All I have to do is scream for help. I’ll get _Thor_ if I have to.”

His lip curled at the name. “You could,” he acknowledged. “But why?”

“You’re the eviler Loki from that other dimension he visited. Why would he let you take over his life? Why should I let you go free? How can I trust you?”

“The entire point of this exercise was for our souls to be intermingled so that Selene couldn’t find us, but to hide it by attempting to act as if nothing had happened,” he explained to her, annoyed. “If you allow me, I’ll merely carry on with my performance. If I had _really_ wanted to hurt you, or anyone else for that matter,” he tilted his head, words rife with dark meaning, “I’d have already done it. You’re all so very trusting.”

She scowled at him. “Because our Loki is trustworthy! And you’re, you’re…awful!”

He laughed again. “A pithy way of putting it! But indeed I am, at that.” He stepped closer, leering at her. “This, my dear, is what _power_ looks like. Power, and the willingness to use it. Something your darling husband could never understand. He had it, and he let it slip through his fingers. And for what…you?”

He looked her up and down pointedly, his condescension palpable.

Darcy clasped her free hand over her torso reflexively, as if she felt exposed. “Hey, pal – this was good enough for you a few nights ago,” she spluttered.

Loki just smirked at her, eyes cold and empty.

“Oh gods,” she exclaimed, “I can’t believe I had _sex_ with you. Ugh!” It took her a moment to compose herself but she managed. Shaking her head she glared at him. “I still haven’t heard a good reason why I shouldn’t have you locked up.”

“If you do that, then everything that he wanted and was willing to do will have been in vain. All the effort, out of the desire to protect you…brought to naught. Assuming, of course, you believe what I have to say is true.”

He raised his hands, shrugging at her.

“If not…then there is nothing more I can say.”

She scowled, but he could see her indecision. She didn’t want to believe him, but all the same she heard the ring of truth to his words.

Darcy lowered the knife.

“All right. For now, I’m going to play along. But one false step from you, one sign that you might even think of hurting somebody,” she promised, warningly, “I won’t think twice.”

Loki bowed to her mockingly. “As it pleases my lady.”

She glared at him, not amused. Her demeanor was downright icy as she moved to walk out the door.

“I’ll feed you some notes later, so you can improve your ‘act’. For now, I think it’s best we give each other some space.”

“Wait,” Loki said suddenly, frowning, unable to resist his curiosity. “What was it that gave me away? A hundred little things, I’m sure. But there had to be something, that made you so certain.”

She paused with one hand on the door, eyes half-lidded as she looked back with disapproval and contempt.

“Mostly, it was the kids. The way you were with our kids.” Her mouth set. “Loki adores his children. But you can barely even look at them, sometimes.”

Loki stared at her, vexed – almost insulted to think it was something so slight. “That was _all?_ ”

“If Loki doesn’t understand real power,” she said loftily, sarcastic, “then there are a lot of things _you_ don’t understand, too.”

“You have a lot of faith,” he snapped. “But who knows what your beloved is doing even now?” He stalked towards her heatedly. “Right now he’s in my body, in my place, an entire dimension away. Who knows what might happen?”

Her expression could only be described as unimpressed.

“Loki would never do anything to hurt me,” she replied, walking out of the room, with such confidence that he simply couldn’t comprehend.

*

The sun had gone down over New York City, leaving behind a warm tableau of gold, yellow and orange in the cooling night air.

Loki and the spy had been sitting on the roof now for hours, talking. The winds were chill, but of course the cold didn’t bother Loki. Natasha didn’t seem to notice it either.

He was quite glad for that. She might have been tempted to leave otherwise. And he’d realized they didn’t want this moment to end.

Despite that they had really just introduced themselves to one another, they didn’t feel like strangers anymore. Here they were sharing things, telling stories, even laughing at times.

It felt so _good_ to have an ally. To have a friend. Someone who believed in him and didn’t look at him with scorn and mistrust.

Loki embraced it, emerging himself, soaking up that balm to his lonely heart and fractured soul. The words flowed freely, spilling out of him in relief. Unraveling his history to an interested and patient audience’s ears and eyes.

He wanted to be himself again. He wanted to feel like he was understood.

So they talked. And he became a person again, the damages of this world fading into the background. He felt like he was once more becoming whole.

It didn’t even matter that at times he became the one doing most of the talking. That at times he would ramble on, the woman only giving the slightest input to show she was still listening. The act itself was cathartic. He felt so much better he didn’t even care that he was baring his soul.

In time the conversation twisted and turned. Natasha was telling him about this world’s Avengers, about their first battle with their own Loki. More about the differences between the two.

“Our Loki has a bit of a chauvinistic streak,” she remarked at one point, wryly. “It’s interesting I’m not seeing that in you.”

“ _Does_ he?” Loki asked. “It’s true Asgard can be a bit…harsh towards women, but I never really…”

“He called me a ‘cunt’ once.” Her words were blunt, unbothered. “He used a more archaic term, to be accurate. But it was pretty clear in context.”

Loki stared at her, aghast.

“I’m so sorry,” he managed.

Natasha shrugged, looking vaguely amused. “It’s not as if you were the one that said it.”

“N-no, but…” He trailed off, coughing into his hand. Truth was he wasn’t sure what he even _could_ say. She was right; he had nothing to apologize for. It wasn’t as if they were _his_ words.

But they were said with a voice that sounded as his did, from a mouth that looked like his own, even if the spirit that issued them was not him but another identity. He supposed what he felt was affront on his own behalf.

“It can be hard to have sympathies, to want to acknowledge others as equals, when your own esteem is called into doubt,” he muttered. “I remember I could be petty sometimes. Embracing prejudices even though I knew better. It’s so _easy_ , to accept any excuse as proof that you are _superior_.”

But he had never, that he recalled, been _that_ condescending towards women. Perhaps this other Loki had taken all those crude shots towards his own masculinity a bit more to heart.

“It’s classic psychology,” Natasha agreed. “I guess I understand. I just never thought of it that way before. Here I only figured he was inherently sexist.”

He flashed her a wry smile. “If I didn’t know better, I might think you were simply using me as a source to better understand your enemy. For when he returns.”

Her eyes were earnest but unblinking. “It’s definitely a side benefit. I won’t pretend I’m not taking advantage of the opportunity. But overall, I’m more interested in getting to know about you.”

He chuckled lightly, not feeling momentarily up to meeting her gaze. “I’m honored.”

He didn’t feel anything of the kind. He was still housed in her enemy’s body, after all. It made him feel like he had somehow been tainted. And right now, he in particular didn’t feel very special.

What he really felt like, he realized, was a coward.

When he had failed to continue speaking Natasha let the silence linger. Though she glanced away only briefly, for the most part keeping an examining eye on his face.

“So,” she said at length, without further interlude, “how many children do you have?”

Loki lifted his head again to stare at her, impressed and bemused.

“How did you…?”

“It’s the way you keep talking about your family,” she explained. “Especially how protective you are and how concerned about them. It didn’t sound like the way a man thinks about his parents, siblings. More like a nuclear family. A spouse and offspring of your own.”

“And so I give myself away even more than I realize,” Loki remarked.

He looked off, smiling in that particular fond way as he thought of his little ones.

“We have five.”

Her eyebrows went up slightly. “Is that normal for Asgard?”

“No, not really.” He laughed. “We got a bit carried away. But we love all our children.” He looked at his own hands, pale fingers laced tightly together. “My wife is a mortal woman. Jane Foster’s former assistant. Darcy-”

“Darcy Lewis,” she finished for him, surprised. “We know about Darcy. She exists in this world too.” Her forehead creased. “Actually that explains something. When Selene visited here, she saw Darcy. She seemed to recognize her.”

Loki nodded. “She was there when we fought. It’s…actually how we met.”

“Should SHIELD be made aware of this? If Selene is going to be targeting her as well, we can put together a protection detail-”

“No,” he interrupted albeit gently. “No, that won’t be necessary. Selene will undoubtedly want to harm my Darcy, but…her only interest seems to be in hunting down me.” He drew a breath, looking towards the sky. “Darcy Lewis here would only be in danger if it were collateral, if this Loki held her in his regard.”

“Well obviously he doesn’t,” Natasha replied. “I don’t think they’ve ever even met.”

“And if they did,” Loki felt a bitter smile steal its way across his lips, “she would only be another mortal he wanted to destroy.”

To think that there was a world where their paths were so close to crossing and yet he would never know Darcy, never know the love that had bloomed between them. Never get to experience the perfect sort of way in which they complimented each other.

Never get to meet the children that they would create.

The images of his sons and daughters’ faces bloomed in Loki’s mind. He thought of their hands grasping his, the sound of their bright and merry laughter.

A pained sound escaped him, unconsciously. “Our eldest is in his twenties now.” The words tumbled out of him in a barrage. “Nearly a man. Really he is one, but I – I can never think of him that way. He’s still my clever, wicked little boy.”

“Loki…” Natasha reached a hand towards his shoulder, voice carrying concerned sympathy.

“The next is Austen. He has Darcy’s hair, but my eyes. He’s quieter than Wyclef, but just as brilliant.” His fingers squeezed together so tight it would be starting to hurt if he only paid attention. “And then there’s Skadi…our warrior girl. Fierce and beautiful. Then Fandra, the daintiest princess Asgard has ever seen. And little Erik…”

“ _Loki._ ” She called his name again, more sharply. Her hand had moved to the side of his jaw, getting him to turn so he would look at her. “It’s okay. Hey; it’s okay.”

His eyes were watering. His voice had startled to tremble.

He realized he couldn’t put the best things about his family into words. The flash of Skadi’s eyes as she fought; the curl to Wyclef’s masterfully woven magic. The intent look on Austen’s face as he stayed up late at night by the fire poring over his books. How self-assured Fandra was. How Erik was so innocent still.

The way it felt being with them, knowing they were his and nothing could ever change that. No one else could claim them, take them away. The tingle that travelled through him when he rested his hand on his child’s shoulder or held them on his lap or wrapped them tight, squirming and giggling, within his arms.

The way Darcy would look over at him across their children’s heads and give a fond, soft smile. The way it felt in his heart from a single brush of their hands.

Feelings and sensations that…he hadn’t had in what seemed like forever, now. His family separated from him, his home with them so far away.

“I miss them,” Loki managed, too heartbroken and miserable even to fully cry. “I miss my family, so much, and I can’t-”

“I know,” Natasha said gently, nodding. “Hush now. It’s all right.”

“But it isn’t all right.” He squeezed his eyes shut, voice rising desperately. “Not until I…”

He didn’t know. He didn’t know what he needed to do.

How he _longed_ for a loving embrace.

Natasha pulled him in, almost hugging him. He leaned into her and her skin felt soft and warm. Her voice was soothing. She was beautiful, and she smelled…not like Darcy, but distinctly female, close enough to what he wanted. Close enough that he could pretend.

Loki was so overcome with longing for his family. For someone to want him, to touch him, isolated as he was in this body that felt sterile as a tomb.

So as they leaned in close a fever seemed to sweep over him, and he kissed her.

It would have been enough, perhaps. But she didn’t stop him. She didn’t protest. She permitted his embrace and kissed him back.

It was too much to take, too much to even think about. Action and instinct took over.

And in a haze of longing, a desperate dream for someone else, Loki’s arms wound around Natasha and he pushed her onto her back with the weight of his body. Limbs spread out around her, body on top of her, looking down.

Red curls spread around her head she gazed up at him evenly, unspeaking, as her hands went to the zipper at the front of her black suit.

They made love right there in the half-darkness of the rooftop.


	7. Chiaroscuro

Natasha was a lot of things.

There were also a lot of things she was not.

She wasn’t gullible, for one. Or malleable, for another. Or someone who was won over easy, with a well-timed look and a smile.

And she definitely wasn’t a little girl, who could be wooed simply by the mood being right.

So that was why, when she saw the broken look on her not-quite-an-enemy’s face, when Loki leaned in and kissed her – she quickly thought the situation over in her most calculating way.

Loki, this Loki, was upset. This was obvious. It was also something of an understatement. Really it was more like he was in the beginning stages of a fairly significant emotional breakdown.

He was telling her things that he possibly shouldn’t be. Looking at her like by her simple act of listening she’d become the most saintly person on Earth.

And maybe he wasn’t ‘their’ Loki. But it looked like he had some similar baggage. So push him over the edge, and they might be right back where they started – or worse.

The Black Widow had initially been trained as a _femme fatale_. To play with men by exploiting their biggest weakness. It had been a long time since she’d had to rely on that part of her make-up – she had a lot of other skills, and she had risen well above the crudest. But there would always be gains a spy might have to take advantage of, for being physically beautiful. And though she wished she could say her work with SHIELD had never required her to lie down in the name of duty, that would be a lie.

The important thing was that it was always _her_ choice. Her prerogative to use that opening.

There was a time and a place for just about everything. Even if people who had never walked in her shoes and seen the kind of world she lived in, could never see it that way.

(And if anyone asked, not that anyone ever would, but her and Clint – whatever it was that they had, for the record, it was far from exclusive.

Not that it was anyone’s fucking business, anyway.)

For the sake of what passed for human decency she didn’t want to see Loki break. But maybe more importantly, her more mercenary side also wanted to keep him around. Because she could still see plenty of ways yet in which having him on her side could be very useful.

So when Loki kissed her, when she could tell what he wanted, she analyzed it and went _‘Okay. This is something I can work with.’_ This, she decided, was acceptable. This was something she could do.

And from watching the situation shrewdly she knew better than to cast many aspirations onto him, good or bad. This was far from manipulation on his part. This was practically _instinct_.

He barely seemed to see what was happening even as he was looking at her. He was desperate, and longing for his family. Craving a physical reminder of the affection he missed. Depression had put him into a fog, made him asleep behind the wheel.

Natasha understood this too, having been trained in the relatively fine art of pushing this particular set of buttons.

Out of all the reasons that a man could commit adultery, people always seemed surprised to hear that loneliness could be one of them.

She didn’t talk, because she knew any words would just hamper whatever accord existed right now between the two of them. She just kissed Loki back, and put her gloved hands on him, and slowly leaned back and let him do what he would when he went to set her down.

Their eyes met as he gazed down at her. It was odd, really, because it sure wasn’t any look she would’ve ever expected to see on _Loki’s_ face. Yes, this wasn’t the same Loki, but still – especially when you considered that he was technically in the other one’s body…

His expression was soft, but ragged. Wearied and sad. Idly Natasha wondered if he really saw her at all, or if he was only picturing his wife where she was, instead.

But it didn’t do either of them any good for her to know. Or care.

She unzipped her suit and guided Loki’s hands down, minimal interference from her required. He glided across her skin in that firm but gentle way that came from steady passion. She had a feeling she was going to actually enjoy this, at least a little, which was always a bonus.

His kisses and touches were sweetened by his unshed tears. And maybe that sounded a little morbid, but to her it seemed poetic.

It was just the way of life.

The armor was a bit of a puzzle in places, but she’d cracked harder locks. Though the leather and metal was woven together in a fashion that clearly hadn’t had the possibility of foreplay in mind.

People were always making jokes and guesses about Thor based on how big he was – it was interesting that no one ever seemed to do the same about Loki. Because he was big, too; tall and broad-shouldered, with long fingers and hands easily the size of her face.

Maybe it was just no one wanted to be making those kinds of remarks about the enemy, or a mass-murdering psychopath. Maybe the way he carried himself was just too alien to picture it, or too cold.

No one would ever know then, because what she saw under the armor was far from a disappointment: lean hard muscle and long limbs, and overall fully proportional and functional equipment, his black locks loose against his pale white throat.

He threaded one hand through the back of her hair, cradling and combing her curls as he lifted her up to kiss him. Natasha looped one of her thighs over and around his hip, urging him closer to her, and further in.

She sat up a little, the pair of them now half on their side. Her hand on his stomach, his stroking her breast. Both of them boldly pressing onward, ready for more.

They were well-matched, she thought. In skill and in stamina.

Physical passion, emotional need and amenable willingness. They were spent when they were done, and satisfied. It wasn’t lingering but it wasn’t graceless either; no writhing, no sweat. It was…exactly what it needed to be. And nothing more.

Natasha lay on her back for a moment, closed her eyes, breathing in and out. Tensing and then relaxing a few of her muscles.

Loki was sitting an arm’s reach away, still undressed, one leg outstretched and the other bent upward at the knee, rubbing his face distractedly. He started and looked at her when she sat up.

“Oh, _no._ ” It finally seemed it hit him what’d just happened. He was stricken. “I…I-I am so, so _sorry_.”

“Well I guess that answers my question of whether you thought I was any good,” Natasha remarked as she reached for her things and started pulling them back on.

She was amused when his face actually _colored,_ cheeks flushing. Enough that she almost wished she had her hands on a camera.

“That wasn’t what I-!” He cleared his throat, trying to calm himself. “Of course, no insult intended. If you want the truth, I found it very enjoyable.”

“As did I,” she concluded, simply. “So I guess we’re even.”

Loki twitched, shutting his eyes and then opening them again, looking away. He gazed back at her despondently.

“But that wasn’t at all what I intended.”

“I know. You miss your wife. But she wasn’t here, and I am, and things got a little away from you. I get it.” Natasha finished with her last strap, outfit back in place. “You don’t really believe I’m vain or stupid enough to think that every man who wants me in bed has fallen in love with me?” She checked her gun, refastened it, and lifted her eyes up to meet his. “I’m not that kind of woman.”

His throat worked as he breathed shallowly, and swallowed. He was trying to understand her.

What he was having the hardest time seeming to grasp was that there was nothing _to_ understand.

Natasha stood, fixing her hair casually with one hand. “Loki, it’s fine. These things happen. Especially when you’re under such extraordinary pressure. You’re only human.” She smirked. “Well, so to speak.”

“And I suppose it was…lucky, that you came along.” His voice turned quiet, and bitter. “And I’m sure you’re only too happy you were able to be of service.”

The placid expression didn’t move from her face but her change in tone was meaningful.

“I didn’t _lure_ you in so I could have my way with you,” she informed him, warningly. “And I don’t think I _made_ you do anything that wasn’t in some way wanted.”

“I cry pardon, again. It was not my meaning to accuse you of being no more than a common harlot.”

The look on Loki’s face was vulnerable, but his body language was anything but. He sat there on the roof, legs drawn nearer to his chest, arms folded casually around his knees. He seemed unbothered by either the cold or his own nudity.

He sighed. “But I hope it’s not too disingenuous of me, Natasha, nor…too _ungrateful_ , if I say that I think you would not have consented so readily, if there was nothing you thought you could get out of the bargain.”

“I found a potential asset for SHIELD,” she agreed, not caring if she came across as callous to him – she was being completely honest, which she thought was what he wanted. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes within reason, to see that that asset is…secured.”

He laughed, self-mockingly, to himself. It was the laugh of someone who knew his own sanity was being questioned and didn’t feel he had a leg to stand on.

Briefly Natasha brushed her hand across his shoulder, regaining his attention. “I have a job to do. That doesn’t mean I can’t also want to be your friend. The two things are hardly contradictory.”

“Of course not.” He looked up to her, green eyes boring into green. He held that for a long moment.

“What strange ways we walk, we king-makers and masters of subterfuge, that work behind the dark curtains. How coldblooded to the eyes of others we must seem.”

She merely watched him, holding his eyes, unblinking and undaunted.

He stood in a single graceful movement, letting out a breath again, absent. “But we do it anyway. And gladly, for the good of the realm.”

Natasha nodded seriously, her lips set into a line that was not hard, but firm. Though they were words she would never herself use, she understood perfectly the sentiment.

Loki reached out to let his fingertips hover just beneath her chin, transmitting the action of cupping her face without actually making contact. His clothes rolled back over him as smoke that solidified – Natasha felt a mild flicker of disappointment.

“I thank you for what you have done here, Natasha. Truly. It seems gauche to say, but you have rendered me…a service.” He pulled away again, fingers curling into an easy fist. “I haven’t been myself for quite some time. I was on an edge without realizing it, and in danger of falling.” His mouth formed an ironic half-smile. “It seems I had to exorcise some ‘demons’ in order to once again see straight.”

“It was nothing, really,” she told him courteously. Her hands moved to her hips as she admitted, breezily, “It’s been awhile in any case, but that was definitely the most _pleasant_ experience of that kind that I’ve had for some time.”

The smile she gave him had a soft, sensual edge to it, without any bite. And he gave her one in return, the two of them laughing in silent fondness, like over a shared joke.

“Now what will you do?” he asked her.

“Return. Report in. But I think for now, I’ll keep this to myself.” Arms folded at the level of her chest she explained, “If you think it’s really working that Selene doesn’t know about you, then I’ll play along.” She hesitated. “Maybe you and I can meet up again.”

He considered it. “I would like that,” he remarked. “But we should of course be careful. For your sake as well as mine. Too much that seems out of place could upset the balance on either side.”

“Of course.” She nodded. “But if it’s possible, I’d like to help you. I imagine there’s a few things about our timeline you don’t know about yet. At least I could fill you in on some details.”

“And there are still other things, I’m sure, that you would like to hear about from me,” Loki added.

He took a few steps away, his back to her. But he turned enough to look at her over his shoulder after a moment’s thought.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to face your version of the Avengers again, after this,” he confessed softly. “I don’t know that I could bear anymore, and if I could…I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

“Lay low. Plant a few false leads.” Natasha felt she probably wasn’t telling him any plan he hadn’t already had figured out for himself. “Let some backpacking teenager catch footage of you on his camera-phone in the middle of the Australian Outback. I’ll see if I can’t manipulate some things on the inside from my end.”

“Don’t do anything that will put you in too much danger,” Loki warned her. “I’m hardly worth it.”

“I make my own assessment when it comes to taking risks,” she declared. “Besides, far as I consider, you happen to be one of the good guys.”

Loki’s face changed. A frown appeared, and his eyes grew severe. Almost cold.

He still looked nothing like the Loki she knew as an enemy – but there was something about him now that reminded her of the other one.

“Be careful now,” he said to her, his voice quiet but every syllable carrying quite clear. Terse and stringent. “You think me a better man than I might really be, because of who you have to compare me to. But don’t get in over your head. I have a past, after all, and I’ve not left all of it behind me.”

He stood poised with one boot on the edge of the rooftop, gauntleted arms hanging rigid at his side. The image he struck was suitably dramatic, lending even more weight than she instinctively felt behind his words.

Loki considered her, to see if it looked like she was really listening – or maybe only taking her measure, before he continued.

“I am capable of many things. Some good, some bad. And I do very little with allowing regret to hamper me.” He went on with his cool-voiced instruction, “I’ve done wicked things and those shadows will always be a part of me. I do not deny them. I _use_ them. I can be something like a good man, when the mood suits me…but I will never be a saint.” He shook his head, still never breaking away from his stare. “And regardless of my noble deeds, I am _not_ a hero.”

“I understand,” she said. And she did.

After all, why shouldn’t she. The Black Widow had a past too. Had a history. And impressive as it was, it was hardly a pretty one.

No matter what she did, no matter how many lives she saved, she would never be a hero either. How could she? Heroes didn’t operate like her.

But then, Natasha wouldn’t want to be a hero anyway.

She couldn’t be who and what she was if she were.

*

It was late at night, and Asgard’s palace was quiet. But despite the hour the realm’s queen was not to be found asleep in her bed.

Instead she walked on near-silent, graceful steps, back and forth the soft rugs of her new baby’s nursery. Speaking gentle words, and singing to the near-infant she held cosseted in her arms.

At first the child had fussed and fidgeted – he had an uncertain constitution, and didn’t seem always to respond to his nurses. But as the hours had crept on his protests had faded, reassured and comfortable in his mother’s arms.

In truth it took less time than one might have suspected. Frigga could have left him ages ago, his cries long stilled and his little eyelids shut tight, sleeping soundly with his head against her breast.

But the truth was she didn’t want to leave him. Noblewomen often were relieved to pass their offspring on to nursemaids, but Frigga enjoyed being a mother. She loved doting on her little ones. And she felt a warm happiness inside of her at this quiet time alone with her son. Just the two of them, enwrapped within the bond that existed between mother and child.

Frigga looked down at the small face pillowed against her. She smiled down at him, full of love.

“You will be given many things in this life, Loki,” she said softly, “but you will always have your mother’s heart.”

He didn’t still as she lifted him carefully to press a kiss to the top of his head. The clever eyes that watched her so intently when he was awake remained shut in deep and pleasant dreams.

 _Good,_ Frigga thought. After all, a growing boy needs his rest.

And small as he was, she suspected Loki had quite a bit of growing to do. Even if he never reached the full size of the race he was born to.

Had it really only been a few months’ time since she was handed a wrapped bundle continuing a small, crying, unhappy Jotun? She had looked into that face and known at once he was meant to be hers. Learned swiftly to interpret his cries, fed him when he was hungry and comforted him when he was tired, but most of all held him close to her so that he might never feel he was alone.

Perhaps it was because he was abandoned, or perhaps it was because born of the Frost Giants he had never before known what it was to be warm. But it always seemed to her that Loki was happiest to be near people, to be touched. Especially – and she wasn’t the only one who had noticed – when it was Frigga doing the holding.

It was a point of pride, that her baby responded so well to her, that she was able to so easily ascertain what he might need. It only proved to her further how much it was meant to be, that Loki should be brought to Asgard. That they would become his family, and she his mother.

Humming she contemplated the sleeping face, gently touching his soft cheek. Even at such an early age, his eyes were already a striking shade of green. He had come to them hairless, but the more time he spent pressed against warm skin, the longer he spent in Asgardian form, the more that changed. There was already a downy layer covering the top of his skull – to a mother’s keen eyes, the appearing locks looked to be dark.

He was a beautiful child. And Frigga looked forward to the centuries to come, full of moments like this they would have together. She would read to him out of her favorite books and watch him in the garden with his brother, playing and laughing together.

What a wonderful life lay before them. So full of promise, of happiness. She was so eager to watch her boy grow.

But for now he was still small, and precious, and dear to her. For now she could hold him close and sigh fondly over his innocence.

Though it was hard to pull herself away Frigga knew she had spent enough time for one night. She needed her own sleep, as well, and she was probably spoiling him by not putting Loki to bed.

Turning she went to the spiraling, ornate crib out of silver and gold she’d had commissioned for him. It was full of downy pillows and blankets she herself made by hand, and she took her time tucking Loki in gently, making sure he was comfortable.

At last she felt satisfied and Frigga leaned over to caress his forehead and run across the blankets one last time.

“Goodnight, my son,” she whispered pleasantly. She snuffed out the lights. With a smile on her face, humming part of his lullaby intermittently to herself, she turned and began to walk out of the room.

She was just at the threshold when she felt a chill. Something seemed at once out of place.

Frigga stilled with her hand on the door, and behind her in the nursery she was certain she heard movement.

She looked over her shoulder in wariness.

There was a woman standing there, over her son’s cradle, where no stranger should be. Where there certainly had been no one before. And there was supposed to be no way to get in other than the door Frigga was facing.

The strange woman was pale, like a cursed spirit. She wore a tattered hood and other black clothes that were little more than rags. There were runes of raw _seiðr_ tattooed on her face, and her nails were long claws. She crept towards the sleeping child, hunched over and mouth open. There was a hissing sound as she showed fangs.

At once the queen rushed towards her, arms raised to defend her child as necessary.

The woman took no notice of Frigga at first. Her eyes were focused on Loki, narrowed to intent slits.

“Is that you, Odinson?” she spoke in a harsh, raspy voice. “All the worlds I have traversed by now, the forms I’ve fought you in – and here are, nothing. Just a scrap of life, a daub of clay not even remotely close to fully-formed. All that you could be, and here you are. How _disappointing_.”

“You stay away from him!” Frigga yelled. “Don’t you dare lay a hand on my boy!”

The woman’s head whipped around, seeing the queen just as she got within reach to strike her. But with blinding speed the intruder moved first, grasping Frigga by the forearm so tight she almost broke it.

Frigga cried out in instinctive pain. Before she could react any further the woman released her, shoving back violently with unexpected, brutal force.

Frigga landed in a heap by the door to the nursery, sprawled on her stomach, barely catching herself in time with her hands so her face didn’t meet the floor. Despite the pain and how winded she was, she tried to recover quickly, pushing herself back to rise.

The woman was standing upright now, but where she gazed at Frigga her expression was impatient, disdainful.

“I have no time to deal with interference from you.” Waving a hand, she caused a warping ripple to briefly appear in the air.

Frigga realized what she’d done when she went to attack again and met with impediment – an invisible barrier of magic the woman had drawn through the space separating them, so that she could not move.

Trying to struggle her way through the queen didn’t think she was strong enough to break it, though she tried. “Guards! Guards! Help!” she cried desperately.

The pale-skinned stranger smirked at her cruelly.

“Save your breath, woman. This will be over, soon enough.”

Turning her back dismissively she returned her attentions to the cradle. The disturbance had woken Loki and he was starting to wail – a sound that reached into Frigga’s chest and squeezed at her heart.

The woman picked up one of the pillows from the periphery of the crib. And then she leaned forward, over where the baby lay, just out of sight to his captive mother’s perspective. Still pushing futilely Frigga watched in horror as the invader pressed the pillow down, holding it with both hands…

“No! _No!_ ”

She was still screaming even as she began to sob, as Loki’s pitiful pleas grew muffled and then weaker, and then began to fade away quietly into nothing at all.

*

Frigga awoke violently, tangled in the sheets and blankets on her bed with a scream still bubbling in her throat; anguish almost greater than any she had ever felt tearing into her heart.

Pressing a hand against her chest she sat there, shaking, taking deep breaths as she tried to control herself. As she tried to uncover what had just happened to her. What it felt like was _still_ happening, as whatever it was lingered like the fading traces of some half-forgotten nightmare; her body trembling as if with the aftereffects of some natural seismic event.

When she finally felt composed enough she took a moment’s consideration, then swiftly got up and threw on enough clothes to be presentable, so that she could walk through the palace.

And then quickly so as to not attract the attention of any guards or her handmaidens, she went at a hurried pace through the corridors, no eyes for anything save the destination in mind.

It didn’t take her long to reach the wing of the palace she sought. She knew the way here quite well, for how often she had walked it when both her boys were children.

But now they were grown. Grown men, and husbands, with families all their own. Both had since been moved, given new rooms befitting their changes in status and situation – and now each had several children their own. Children who, in turn, needed their own rooms to sleep in, and to play.

What had once been the only space needed for when Loki was a baby now belonged to his youngest child, Erik. Erik had his own bedroom closer to where his parents and siblings were, but this space was utilized as a playroom, a place to store his toys and where he could be all by himself.

It was a wonderful room. Frigga was deeply glad to see it wasn’t going to waste. She had chosen the location very specially, trying to find just the right spot in the palace to cradle a small but growing baby: that would be filled with warm sunshine and have good views through the windows for when he was old enough to look outside.

The nursery had fulfilled her expectations and more. But then, Frigga had it redesigned as necessary to fit them. The carpet was soft and downy, perfect for crawling in or lying on. The windows, when not shuttered by richly embroidered curtains, had a view over the towers and spires of the city and the outstretched skyline above. Birds often flew back and forth, and sometimes they would even perch on the window’s edge to offer up their sweet song. The walls were painted with murals of stars and the ceiling held a reproduction of an old map of one of Asgard’s distant oceans.

Frigga had wanted it to be a space full of wonder and beauty, that her son would view with a smile and feel comfortable and happy in.

Instead, in the shattered dream she only remembered in the darkest of vagaries, it had become his crypt.

It had not been her past. It had never even been a specific fear of hers, Loki murdered in his crib. And yet the emotions had felt so real, so raw, as if she had not dreamed them but lived them.

The former queen didn’t know what it meant. But it was hard to imagine that it wasn’t somehow an ill omen towards the future.

She entered the silent playroom, brushing aside the curtains to let in the pre-dawn light, and waving her hand across a single orb of illumination so that she could see.

Not much had changed since the days of Loki’s infancy. The carpet was still thick, the paint on the walls still bright and gleaming. There was no cradle here now, but a desk, and a few bookshelves. And the floor was scattered with Erik’s toys.

He had a lot of them, for he was a fortunate and well-loved child. Some of them were trinkets brought back as souvenirs by his aunts and uncles from far-off worlds and other places in the realm. Some were odd contraptions purchased or made on Midgard, evidently considered classics for children there. And some of them were more like toys most Asgardians such as Frigga would recognize.

Between a toy sword and a tiny mechanical charging bull was a soft plush figure of a small black ram, covered in curly fur with horns made out of velvet. Frigga leaned down and scooped it up, cradling it absently to her chest.

Loki had one just like this, once. Only his had been a horse instead of a ram. It’d gotten left somewhere it shouldn’t have, or stolen carelessly by his brother, or perhaps destroyed by mistake in one of Loki’s earliest magical ‘experiments’. She honestly couldn’t say. It was so long ago.

She looked around the room, seeing both the traces of the childhood still growing within it, and the memories of one that had been here long before.

Loki and Thor had seemed to grow up so quickly. But she had many precious days to recollect over, now that she was an old woman and her days were mostly quiet.

But her grandchildren were half-mortal. They grew much faster. Her sons’ childhoods had numbered in the centuries; now it had been two scant decades and her oldest grandsons were men making decisions about the rest of their lives, her oldest granddaughter was a full-fledged warrior. It was as if there was no time at all to bask in the memories – they were always getting bigger, doing things differently, changing.

It was the nature of children produced in the union of a human and an Asgardian, she knew. After all these princes and princesses were hardly the first. In the earliest days the mortal blood was stronger and their childhoods progressed at a mostly mortal pace. It mostly evened out after adolescence, and after that point things would slow down – they would appear almost like any Asgardian.

But they would never be full-blooded Asgardians. Not really. It was a thought Frigga tried to keep away completely when she smiled over the little ones, or banish it to the furthest corner of her mind, but there it was.

They would have many centuries, maybe even thousands of years, but they would grow old. And the odds were it would be much, much faster than the rate of their Asgardian fathers.

It was a fate Frigga tried not to dwell on, for it desperately hurt her heart. Thor and Loki loved their sons and daughters, she knew, and given the choice would not do anything differently. But one day they would be gone. And then they would have only these fleeting, precious memories of a too-soon over childhood to remember them by.

It was one of the worst things anyone could suffer, Frigga thought. The experience of a parent outliving their child.

She stood there in the dimly growing shadows, a boy’s discarded toy half-clutched in her arms, gazing pensively down at the floor.

The slight creak of a footstep against the floor, entering the room behind her, startled her out of her reverie.

“Loki!” Surprised though she was, when she looked up and found him standing there, Frigga smiled at her son automatically. “What are you doing here?”

He smiled back at her, his eyes cool, and came closer toward her.

“Forgive me for startling you, Mother. I saw the light on and came to investigate.”

He glanced around them, idly. Frigga watched him as she set the toy ram back down. Though he made attempts to conceal it, this dread business with Selene had gotten to Loki, she had realized.

He was distant these days, and withdrew from others to be alone with his thoughts more frequently. She let him have his space and didn’t pry, understanding well her second child’s ways.

But still it saddened her to see him so burdened by worry, and making himself so alone.

“It is an odd place to be visiting, at this hour,” Loki commented. “I am of course prone to my fair share of nightly wanderings…but I’m not aware of it being a habit for Asgard’s former queen.”

“I had an odd dream and couldn’t sleep. A fit of nostalgia brought me here.”

Frigga gestured around them, soft warmth spilling out of her as she thought again of watching Loki play in there when he was small.

“I remember when this was your nursery. When I would come to see you every chance I got, hold you in my lap and tell you stories.”

“Yes. It was.” Loki’s voice was slow, and distant, as if he were only just recalling it. “But how long ago _that_ was.”

“And yet sometimes I feel as if it were only yesterday. Or at most, the day before. You are a parent yourself now, Loki. You know what it’s like.”

“Ah…yes. Of course.” He was subdued. “What a blessing it is, to start a family of one’s own.”

“Yes. It is like nothing else. To watch them grow. To have them to treasure, a part of you. Always.” A loving smile on her visage she moved in before him, resting a hand on his face.

Though he tried to quell it Loki started under her touch, evidently finding it unexpected.

“…Mother?” he asked reluctantly, seeming confused.

“Forgive me. You know I would never wish to seem overbearing,” she said to him, lightly teasing. “But my dream…I know not if it was merely fear from what you’re now facing, or even a vision from another of those worlds. But in it, something terrible happened to you. Something I had no power over. That I was forced to witness.”

The cold recollection brought the smile away from her face, and for a moment she could not speak.

“There now, Mother. It will be all right,” he tried to reassure her, putting on a show of confidence and nonchalance for her benefit. “Somehow I will do what must be done. I will _destroy_ Selene, once and for all, before she does me any harm.”

“I believe in you, my son. And of course I hope that you are right.” She looked back up at him, gazing soulfully into his eyes. “But a mother cannot help but worry about her child.”

She couldn’t help it; her grip on him became tighter as her fingers curled into the fabric of his clothes. As if to assure herself he was real. “And I have experienced your loss once before.”

Her beloved second child – the clever-eyed baby she had kept warm in her arms – hurt, gone mad, and then lost forever, to the gaping abyss beneath the Bifrost’s edge.

Or so she had thought, for a time. To have thought it at all was more than any mother should have to bear.

Loki’s eyes widened, and he became visibly uncomfortable. “That was…an age ago,” he chuckled nervously. “It was hard to be separated, yes, but-”

“Do you know how often I wept for you?” Putting a hand to his face again, Frigga did what she would for very few: she let the full extent of her grief show. Made raw and almost new again in that moment, by the strength of her awful memories. “More times than I can count. Each day I had to put on a brave, composed face for my people, and at night I let my misery take hold.”

Loki’s face changed, became unreadable with emotion, overcome, as he took in what she was saying. As he witnessed it in truth on her expression and in her words.

“I cried more tears I think than there are stars above Yggdrasil.” She buried her face against his shoulder, pulling him into her arms. “And those same stars I thanked every day, for a time, when you at last you came home again.”

Loki held her back, trying to comfort her. Though she couldn’t shake a strange feeling he wasn’t fully there in his action. That there some small part of him he held back, that was pulling away.

But she dismissed it, telling herself it must be imagined.

Loki did not say anything at first. Finally he went, in a hushed, almost wry tone of voice, “You _mourned_ me.”

“Of course I did. I love you, Loki. You know this. You are my child, the son of my heart and spirit if not of my body.” She pulled back so she could take in his handsome face. “I am so proud of all that you’ve done.”

He did laugh, then. “Of _all_ that I have done?”

Frigga reached again to his face, this time holding it between both her hands, and making sure that he met and held her eyes.

“The past is past, Loki. And even if I had to live it over a hundred times, I would make every decision regarding you over again.” She pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. Her voice was breathless but far from weak. “I could never cease caring for you, no matter what.”

Loki watched her closely as she withdrew, his hands going to hold hers on the wrists as she gradually withdrew her embrace.

“Forgive me. I must seem mad to you, or at least strangely sentimental, going on like this. But in times of turmoil those we care for are most in our hearts.” She smiled at him once more, only offhandedly apologetic. “And so I wanted to remind you.”

“Thank you,” Loki said at length. His voice was flat. She wondered what thoughts could be keeping him so far away. “It is…good to be reminded.”

“What is wrong, Loki?”

“Nothing is wrong.” He hesitated. “Except, of course, what you already know.”

“This seems more than that, somehow. If you need to talk, you know that I am always here to listen.” She waited but he didn’t make an immediate reply. “I look for you in the gardens. Or some of the places I am used to seeing you linger. You’re never there. And you...you do not come to me anymore, so that we might sit together. The way you usually do.”

She spoke a little quickly, not wanting to seem a beleaguering and fussing old woman. But it hurt, when her son forgot her in his affections.

“I can’t remember the last time we sat and drank tea together, or played hnefatafl, or even only looked at the flowers and talked of nothing.”

“What,” he exclaimed, sudden, “is that really so commonplace an occurrence?”

Frigga blinked at him exactly once. “You know that it is.”

She could not read what was in his eyes, and that troubled her. But she wouldn’t press. Though she longed for it, she knew when he was thinking Loki could grow very distant. She didn’t want him to think of her as an obligation.

He pressed his mouth together, briefly. It almost looked like a smile, yet somehow…wrong.

“I will come to you tomorrow,” he said to her abruptly, manner having grown incredibly serious. He met her gaze earnestly as proof. “I promise.”

Frigga smiled at him gently, encouraging. “Then I will look forward to it.”

He nodded and left her company with brief, almost distracted words of goodbye. She watched him go in mild concern, but there was so much else these days to feel uneasy about. It did her no good to dwell.

Loki, for the most part, could handle his own problems. And he’d gotten much, much better at reaching out for help when he needed it.

As for her…Frigga still felt a note of unrest. So she went to find her husband, and her other son, and tell them of her dream.

*

Darcy was, to put it mildly, not having the best of times right now in her life.

It was almost funny really. She was living in a palace under the protection of a literal superhero. Her husband was a prince. She had wealth, authority, and _magic_ resources at her disposal for her well-being and happiness, dammit.

But what she also had was a role in the universe, apparently, that was as good as having a target painted on her back.

Her kids were in danger. Some crazy bitch who had tried to kill her more than twenty years ago had slithered out of a hole and come back for more.

And the one person Darcy could usually depend on, if not to flat-out keep her safe then to be her sense of stability, her fulcrum point keeping her feeling relatively secure and grounded, was gone. Snuck out and skipped town on her, leaving her to deal with this on her own.

Oh no, wait – not _entirely_ on her own. Nah; that was the best part. He’d left her some “help” – in the form of his psycho, soulless doppelganger.

Darcy should be so, so pissed at Loki. She would’ve been ready to murder him, really.

If not for the fact she was so worried about him. If not for the fact she missed him so much.

Bad enough she thought having to realize a loved one had been replaced by an evil pod person ( _again_ , even; thanks for that one, universe). Thinking about her husband with longing, while having this other version hanging around that was nothing like him; it stung.

She constantly was torn between this cold, heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach, and an anxious crawling sensation across her skin.

But for everyone else she had to keep on pretending. She had faith in Loki, even if she didn’t know what the hell he was thinking. Even if no matter what he was hoping for this was probably a bad idea. She still had to at least give him that _chance_ to see it through.

Though he had better pull it off soon, because she was only going to wait so long. There was a limit to what she’d put up with.

Watching in affronted dismay only two nights after having figured out the truth, as the other Loki crawled into bed with her. As an example. That was pushing it.

Taking in the look on her face, he smiled at her maliciously, his eyes sparking with a cold, cruel kind of mirth.

“What’s the matter, my sweet? Are we not after all man and wife?” His voice was mocking. “I’ve gathered it would be strange for us otherwise, and we wouldn’t want to rouse any suspicions, now would we?” He rolled over, giving every sign of making himself comfortable. “Besides, you had no objections to it before.”

The Loki that Darcy knew and loved, he could be mean sometimes. Hell, he could be a complete asshole. But even still, even then, he wasn’t like this.

This was…petty, spiteful awfulness. For nothing but its own sake.

This Loki was nothing but a bully: being mean to people because he enjoyed the fact that he could.

Darcy made a point of rolling her eyes at him. Keeping out of reach on her side of the bed, she turned away, putting her head on the pillow.

“Like I don’t know you think I’ve got human cooties. You talk a big game, but don’t waste your breath. We both know you can’t back it up. I had to practically do the fan dance to get you to touch me, remember?” And she tried not to shudder at that recollection, herself. “I don’t know if your problem is emotional or physical, and I don’t really care.”

On the far side of the bed Loki had gone deadly still. Darcy’s heart was hammering in her chest. Still she kept on faking calm, indignant composure.

“You stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine. Mmkay? Maybe we can both get some sleep this night.”

She didn’t dare turn back to see what his face looked like. She squinted, but couldn’t really move her eyes enough. Still she told herself she thought she saw him blinking, expression bemused.

She waited, breathing shallow, forcibly slow. But still the other Loki said nothing.

Finally, she heard him wave a hand, and mutter something. The lights went out.

Darcy didn’t dare to venture how long she lay there stiffly in the dark until her exhaustion overcame her.

The next few days things were…different. They had to be. Maybe the two of them could be civil, but Darcy could only keep up the “loving couple” act so much, knowing what he really was. She smiled, and sat next to him, and gave the right little gestures of affection when there were witnesses around.

But as much as she could, she politely made pretense to find herself elsewhere. Like, as far away as humanly possible, if she had a choice.

A few of the others were wondering if something was wrong, thinking Loki was acting “off”. Darcy didn’t blame them, considering she’d been wondering the same thing recently herself.

Now that she was in on the game though she could downplay it, feigning puzzlement and making excuses, reassuring everyone they were only imagining things. Reminding them, grimly, about Selene – of course Loki was worried, moody, distracted. Of course Loki wasn’t really in the mood for idle fun.

All the while it made her feel a little sick inside. Helping hide this snake in plain sight, when she wanted to run screaming, _“Yes, yes something is wrong! Lock this bastard up! Keep him away from us!”_

But she couldn’t. Not now. So she swallowed back her words, trying not to choke on them. Plastered an unconcerned smile on her face.

And found every reason she possibly could to keep him the hell away from her children.

Luckily, if Loki noticed this particular act of hers, he only reacted to it with relief. It was pretty clear he didn’t know how to handle children. Especially those that were ostensibly his own.

But it broke Darcy’s heart to have the kids even suspect their dad might be mad at them. Or didn’t care about them as much anymore. She did everything she could to distract them, underplay it.

And she never let him off the hook entirely.

“There you are,” she complained in a hiss. It was late morning, and she’d been looking for Loki everywhere. It was time for another of their ‘review sessions’. Though he’d picked up an impressive amount so far just from conversations, there were some details he clearly didn’t think were as important as others. But damn it if Darcy was going to let him insult the kids by getting the name of a pet or a favorite doll wrong. “You’re late.”

Loki slipped inside the small, hidden antechamber they’d agreed on for their meeting place. He regarded her with a tart frown.

“I had no idea you considered me so important,” he said languidly, eyes wandering past her in derision. He smoothed back his hair and then walked over to poke at some statue that stood in the middle of the room gathering dust. “But I trust you’re able to keep yourself plenty occupied without me.”

Darcy wasn’t having any of it. She narrowed her eyes.

“Sit down. Or at least make yourself comfortable. It’s time for another lesson.” She pulled out a thick photo album. “And this time, I brought visual aids.”

The family album was a curiously resilient tradition, even as Asgard mostly relied on painted portraiture and everyone on Earth had gone completely digital at least a decade ago. But there was something sort of rewarding about having the memories all in visual form to page through.

Darcy focused on the good vibes she felt from the images portrayed within, as she narrated for Loki’s benefit through a dozen picnics on Vanaheim, baby showers, and family beach days.

“…and this was our second time going to Disney World.” She pointed to the picture of Wyclef eating an ice cream cone and hugging a Dumbo plushie, Skadi wearing a pair of fairy wings and playing with a balloon sword, and a giggling Austen held aloft in the middle on the massive shoulders of his uncle. All four were wearing matching Mickey Mouse ear hats. “Thor wasn’t there for most of it, but he joined us on the last day. I think he almost had more fun than the kids.”

“Yes. Of course,” Loki commented woodenly.

His eyes wandered onto the next page, where there was a photo of Darcy herself (wearing an Ariel t-shirt that she knew she still had somewhere) hugging a visibly unsure Fandra from behind in an encouraging sort of way, as they waited in line for the Barnstormer. A questioning frown overtook him.

“Unless I’m mistaken, by my account this is around the time that the youngest boy should have been gestating.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right, it was. So?”

Somewhat gingerly Loki traced over the edge of the matted photograph, poking at Darcy-captured-in-photo. “You don’t appear to be with child.”

“Ah; no. That’s because I wasn’t,” Darcy recalled aloud, realizing he was in the dark about this particular detail of their lives. “See, he and I take turns. And, when Erik was born, it wasn’t my time.”

The timing of this particular vacation would have sucked for Loki, if not for them having visited the park before. But then he didn’t miss out much, either, considering he was fairly indifferent to the rides anyway – most of them apparently paled compared with other experiences in his life.

The Loki in front of her meanwhile was staring at her with a clear and total lack of understanding. “Whatever do you mean?”

Darcy waved a hand. “Well, he… _you_ know. The Jotun thing.”

He stiffened instinctively at the mention of his Frost Giant heritage; and boy, was he _pissed_ when he’d found out that that was open knowledge now. But it didn’t seem to be the explanation he was looking for. He shook his head.

“What does _that_ have to do with anything?”

She cocked her head to the side, and looked at him. _Really_ looked at him. Peering upward closely, trying to read into the nuances of his face.

And then at last her hand flew over her mouth as she stifled a gasp. “Oh my gods…you have no idea, do you?”

“No idea about what?” he snapped at her, equally impatient as he was puzzled.

“Loki told me it took him awhile to come to terms with it,” she said rapidly, thinking out loud. “But he said he always knew, really; it was just in the back of his head. I would have figured, since you already found out about being a Frost Giant, it would’ve had to occur to you too by now.”

“Make sense, you accursed woman.” He snarled. “I have not the slightest idea what you are talking about!”

Darcy sniffed, offended rather than threatened. Besides, she totally held the upper hand right here, considering the wisdom she was about to lay down on him.

“Loki,” she began slowly, in her most reasonable tone of voice, “do you know where baby Frost Giants come from?”

“Of _course_ I do, you insipid cow,” he retorted. “I might wish to know nothing of their kind, but I am neither a simpleton nor a child.”

“Yeah,” she almost smirked, undaunted, “but do you _really_ know?” She held up a hand, stopping him when his mouth opened. “No, really. Take a second. Think about it.”

He was about to bite out some other vitriolic retort, but he hesitated and seemed to do what she asked.

An icy, disbelieving look swept over his face within moments. His eyes widened.

“No,” he protested. “It…it can’t be.”

“I see you figured it out.”

“Even if it were…if it _is_ possible,” he took a few restless steps away from her, looking and sounding like a man who’d had his entire worldview turned over – which he clearly was, even as his voice was vehement; “certainly I would _never_ -”

“Oh, but you did. Three times as a matter, of fact.” She held up her fingers, counting them off: “Wyclef, Skadi, Erik. Yup, that’s right, big guy. _You_ went first.”

Loki couldn’t speak but the doubt and furious denial was written into every line of his face. Balancing the photo album open from beneath with one hand, Darcy held it out towards him with the pictures facing his direction, as she flipped through to what she knew was in there.

Her husband hated having any kind of image taken of him when he was pregnant, especially after he started to show. But Darcy could usually manage to sneak or force her way with a couple.

Not too many pages after the Disney trip was exactly what she was looking for. Loki was standing with his left side to an open window, the natural light glowing around his face from behind as he turned towards the camera. His hair was wavy and mussed and he was wearing the Asgardian equivalent of a bathrobe over pajamas. There was a mildly annoyed edge to his expression, but for the most part he looked sleepy and at peace.

And both his hands rested atop the crest of his stomach, which was rounded out quite considerably, in a downright distinctive way. He was, if she had her dates right, at about thirty-one weeks in this picture.

This Loki stared at the image of her Loki, and then he flinched backward hard, as if afraid the very sight of what he was looking at might burn him.

“No,” he said in weak protest. “I…I can’t believe…”

Darcy kept the picture out. But she wasn’t looking at it. She was studying him, closely.

“God, it isn’t even that you don’t like kids, is it?” she remarked out loud, coming to a realization. “It’s like you can’t even _deal_. It…it scares the hell out of you, doesn’t it? To even try and imagine that you could ever be this.”

Looking back down, she gazed at the picture of Loki: father, dam, the entire responsibility for his child’s life and well-being on his shoulders. And utterly resigned to that fact.

“That you could have that, and even want it,” she continued softly. “That somehow it could be okay.”

She was waiting for other Loki to get mad. To start swearing at her, screaming at her. It was obvious he hated this idea. That it revolted him. She half-expected him to rip the picture right out of her hands.

But instead to her surprise he said nothing. He merely kept staring, face pale. It was as if instead of being incensed by his dread of this image, it had paralyzed him.

Carefully Darcy closed the book and tucked it under her arm. She reached out a hand – Loki shied back from her, flinching in what looked like an involuntary startle response.

“Relax,” she said, almost soothingly. “I just want to show you something else.” Barely touching him she lightly prodded at Loki’s side. At least she knew the body he had, if not the spirit currently inside it. “Know how you have a scar, right there?”

“Yes,” Loki confirmed, slowly. “I had wondered why. There are no other marks on this body. I never keep them.”

That at least was something they both had in common. Darcy had asked about it once, after she and Loki had really gotten to know each other. Wondered why it was that a thousands-of-years-old Viking god didn’t have any battle scars.

Loki had explained that he preferred not to let any leave a mark on him. Leave proof or claim, he had put it, that any could touch his body; whether or not they lived to tell the tale. He erased them all with magic. So no one owned his skin but himself.

And then he had given a smile that was hard, almost nasty, and used magic to undo what was done, letting her see for a moment what he would look like if he hadn’t.

Darcy remembered having to hold her breath, so she didn’t scream or give away how it made her sick to her stomach. If Loki let every injury he’d ever been dealt stay, his flesh would be a map of ancient silvery lines stacked on top of and running into each other.

The stories they told were nothing but pain. Burn marks and stab wounds, and some awful back and forth pattern that looked like needlepoint ringing his lips.

Wordlessly she’d pleaded with her eyes until he took them all away again. She didn’t blame him for not wanting to keep a single one.

Back in the present hand hovering just above the cloth covering her husband’s body, Darcy told this stranger, “This is the only scar he ever wanted to keep. It’s from when Skadi was born. She was premature almost a month; he went into labor early. The healers were in a rush when they cut him open, and they weren’t careful enough when they stitched him back up again.”

His hand wandered over, pressing down and then pulling away again.

“They all had to be cut out of his belly?” There was something bizarrely childlike about the consternation on his face. “But…if that truly is the way for Jotun…”

Darcy bit her lip because she had an inappropriate urge to laugh. “I guess a _normal_ Jotun has all the right equipment. When you shapeshift, you have all the necessary parts – or, so he’s implied to me.” She gestured to him. “But, when you’re still Asgardian-looking, you’ve only got the internal hardware. So the baby has nowhere to go on its own.” She paused, not sure what to say. “Sorry if that’s a little…weird.”

He shook his head, at first slowly and then roughly, as if he was awaking from a dream.

“I don’t care,” he lied. It was pretty blatant. “What difference could this knowledge make to me? Certainly, I’ll never have cause to use it.”

“Probably not,” Darcy informed him, a bit harshly. “Loki told me a Jotun’s got to _want_ it in order to become pregnant. So you’d have to be lying back and thinking thoughts of babies and warm fuzzies while you do the deed in order for it to work.”

“How ever-so charming.” He sneered, his face especially harsh. She wanted to scream at him for doing that to her husband’s facial muscles; that look didn’t belong there. What if he damaged them somehow? “In that case then I most _assuredly_ have nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah,” Darcy shot at him. “I gotta ask. Could you even think happy thoughts if you tried?”

He stepped closer, pointedly trying to loom over her, posed intimidatingly. She was sorry to admit that it worked.

“Oh, believe me. I have plenty of happy thoughts. Ones I believe that a fragile heart such as yours would take no pleasure in,” he informed her, taunting. “But they give me _much_ comfort.”

Darcy set her teeth. She clutched the photo album tight to her chest. Like if she squeezed enough she could absorb all the innocent happiness contained within back into her body. Warming her again; making her feel like she and her family could actually be safe.

“Well I hope that they do,” she gave to him as her final parting shot. She was done with this for the day, so very done. “Because they’re all that you’ve got. All that you’re going to _ever_ have.”

She marched out of there before he could taunt her further. With words like ‘Oh is that what you think?’, and megalomaniacal rants about how he was one day going to rule her entire pathetic world.

She got out of there, before she would have to listen to any of those things, being said in her loving husband’s voice.

*

After Darcy had left him Loki remained awhile holding the same position, not moving. The expression stayed as it was on his face.

Except as the minutes went by it seemed to tighten and clench, his heartless sneer of a smile growing strange around the edges, like a mask that was being stretched too tight.

Finally he let the look fall from his face. And in turn, with no witnesses, he became…emotionless. Blank.

He glanced at the floor absently, distracted. Then with seemingly nothing else to do he went and sat on a bench by the wall. Lacing his fingers together, hands loosely folded, he slouched back and stared down past his fingertips.

There was a pensiveness to his expression, a far-off and untouchable quality, as if he was caught up by some distant thought.

Mostly though, the vacancy to his face, the conflicted heat in his eyes, gave the impression of one who was trying very hard not to think about anything at all.

Things like the family he was supposed to be capable of loving. The children that had been grown from his body - this very body. The ultimate gift of life, stripped from his flesh, freely given.

The so-called friends that pestered him, that wouldn’t leave him alone. _Worried_ about him, or so again and again they claimed.

The brother who had ultimate authority to lord over him, and yet spoke to him freely and complimented him on his strengths.

And there was Frigga – there was _his mother_. The way she had looked at him. The words she had said. The way he had felt something in his soul begin to feebly stretch and rouse itself – a yearning to reach back, from behind a door he had thought he long sealed shut and emptied out of anything, leaving it stripped bare like a forgotten tomb.

But now he felt as though he must be forced to consider the unthinkable: that some force did indeed have the power to wake the dead.

 _You are stronger than this,_ Loki reminded himself. _Don’t let these base emotions get the better of you._

Hadn’t he spent all that time after the void was done with him, limping across the cosmos, his mind in tatters, forcing himself to look back and come to terms with what had to be the truth?

He was a fool to ever trust in the idea that he had been wanted by these people, that he ever could’ve thought he belonged.

His memories were clouded and full of distractions; sentiments, weaknesses as he let himself be pained by slights and opinions. He relived them over and over again, until he stripped them of everything but cold facts. Until they were coherent, brief, and formed a narrative that made sense to him.

Odin had never given him anything but his distaste and his anger. He had seen him as _thing_ , not a subject, certainly not a son. The other warriors mocked him openly and put up with him with only the greatest begrudging. And Thor had never _protected_ him – he used Loki for his different strengths one minute, and taunted him for them the next. They had _never_ been equals.

It was up to Loki to build himself up again, get revenge against Thor, and prove for all how wrong he really was.

And he knew the truth. Was secure in it, confident, even as Thor railed on in his melodrama, professing that Loki was mistaken. That there were things he had forgotten.

Loki’s mind was a twisted and complicated thing, one that not even he could sometimes predict. But he trusted it. For he could trust in no one else – he had to believe adamantly in himself.

But for all his sneers at Thor, how easily he had dismissed his once-brother’s claims…the ground, he was distressed to realize, felt a little less steady beneath his feet.

 _I love you,_ Frigga had said, her eyes bright and glad. _I am proud of you._

And much as he wanted, it didn’t ring entirely false. It had been easy to make himself hate his false brother, false father. But the situation with his mother had been…more complicated. It had been easier to simply forget about her.

He was having such a frustratingly hard time doing that now.

But if he had not been truly alone on Asgard, if he had one person who did indeed care about him, then…

Well, then. Then, if he didn’t take care, if he let that nagging spark of an idea run free, it threatened to call into question everything else as well.

It couldn’t be so. He wouldn’t let it. He clung stubbornly to his grudges, his feelings of betrayal: he knew they were well-earned! He believed in his memories, in his own thoughts. He had to.

Because if he didn’t, what then did he have?

So Loki stayed awhile in that empty room, sitting there with his head bowed forward and a grim look, heavy shadows cast across his face.

Sat there until he could compose and control himself, and endeavored to think of nothing at all.

*

The ‘quick visit’ to Avengers Tower for Jane and Darcy had been, in light of recent events, extended. Indefinitely.

And instead of being a fun little trip to poke around Starktech labs and ask questions about science, it couldn’t help feeling a bit more like an imprisonment – since Stark and Dr. Banner along with the rest of the Avengers team had too much on their plates to really talk to them right now, and they were mostly kept confined to one area of the Tower or another, escorted by security personnel everywhere.  _“For your own safety; you understand”._

Sure Jane understood. And she wasn’t even about to argue, because like hell she wanted to be caught out there alone, knowing what she might be facing. She wasn’t stupid enough to try and leave right now.

But that didn’t mean she had to like it.

Right now she was in the bedroom that’d been offered her in the Tower. It was a _nice_ bedroom, with an open workstation, a huge bathroom, and a big flat-screen TV. One section of the wall was little more than a giant plate-glass window, offering an excellent view overlooking the city and the skyline.

Jane was standing in front of it, arms crossed tightly in an absentminded way. She wasn’t staring at anything; not that today was a good day for enjoying the view.

It was cloudy, overcast, sky gray and light dim, view obscured by sheets of pouring rain. Every once in a while came the tell-tale roll of thunder.

It could be entirely natural of course. Or it could be because Thor was nearby. Being a thunder god and all, sometimes his mood had a chance to summon storms. But it was hard to know for sure.

Jane couldn’t help resenting it, that this was her life now. That she couldn’t even take something natural as weather patterns for granted, because even they could be meddled with by outside forces just beyond her comprehension.

She shook her head and sighed, closing her eyes because she felt tired. It was hard for her to sleep.

She hadn’t seen Thor in days. Hadn’t wanted to, or _known_ whether or not she wanted to, and he hadn’t been bold enough to force the issue. So she didn’t really know what his mood was. Maybe he was too upbeat right now even to cause this bit of rain.

Though if he was still feeling anything like the last couple of times she’d seen him – she doubted it.

It should have been a good sign, she realized, that he respected her enough not to go against her wish for space. But that knowledge didn’t make her _feel_ good. In fact, it frustrated her.

Thor was supposed to be chivalric and determined. The type of man who’d sweep her off her feet, whether she wanted to be swept or not. He’d won her over through her skepticism with ardent words and kisses to the back of the hand. Independent woman or not, she had to admit she’d evidently grown accustomed to having that kind of attention.

And where was Thor now? It was silly to assume he was waiting in the wings, pining over her. He had a team of other heroes to hang out with, a crazy brother to hunt down, threats to fight for the sake of the entire planet if not the entire universe.

Jane was just a woman, in the end. She could never hold his attention if he was too busy doing things that were far, far bigger than her.

Bigger than whatever they had. Had had. Might still have. God – she just didn’t know.

It was hard to decide whether or not you wanted something when you couldn’t even be sure what it was.

 _“He’s dangerous, Jane,_ ” Erik had reminded her, in one of the few times he felt composed enough to call and have a long talk since his ‘sabbatical’ began. _“He’s a good man, with a good heart – but he’s still dangerous. I believe that now after what happened, after what I’ve seen, more than ever before.”_

Erik could be overly cautious about a lot of things, but that rarely meant he wasn’t right. Yes, Thor had saved the world; had swooped in like an avenging angel over New York City. Battling off monsters and space aliens with his bare hands, like it was something he did every day of the week. It was the kind of thing to make any romantic girl swoon and feel weak in the knees.

And the kind of thing to send any soul with an ounce of sense running like hell in the other direction.

Thor was a god, beautiful and majestic and terrifying. Being anywhere near him meant these kind of things were always going to _keep_ happening. Magic and demons and people coming after her because she was an Achilles heel – or things that kept landing on her because of sheer proximity.

And he couldn’t protect her, not really, no matter how strong he was or what promises he made. Not when he was the reason she was in danger to begin with.

Thor was a _god_ , and Jane was for all her wit and intelligence and accomplishments still nothing but a little human. No matter how much he loved her, no matter how much she loved him, nothing could ever change that. The consequences of whatever they might have together, still could leave her squashed like a bug.

But the more Jane thought about it, the more she realized that wasn’t really the problem. Though it _should_ be.

Thor was swept up in a constant hurricane of disasters and chances and uncertainty – and what bothered her when she thought about him wasn’t the fact it existed, but that she worried she could never compete with it.

That she’d never be able to have Thor be fully her boyfriend, her lover, her _whatever_ , if he always had to be the prince, the god, the hero. That as far as his attentions would go, she didn’t stand a chance.

She had never in her life been scared about losing, never let the odds convince her of certain defeat.

But for once, she was left doubting whether she should even try.

With a shake of her head and a steadying breath through her nose, Jane opened her eyes again.

And she tensed up the instant she realized she was no longer alone.

A man as tall as Thor stood dangerously close to her, having suddenly appeared without a single sound. His hair was long and dark, a little wild, he was wearing Asgardian armor, and he was staring at her unblinkingly with sharp and strange green eyes.

 _Loki,_ Jane’s mind supplied for her in wary fright. Never mind they’d never met before. She had stared at the pictures, taught herself to recognize this face. Better safe than sorry.

Though what she felt in this moment was anything but safe.

“Good evening, Dr. Foster,” he greeted her smoothly, her name rolling off his tongue with shocking familiarity.

Jane didn’t waste her time or her breath wondering what he wanted. She turned and dove for the security panel that’d been pointed out to her on the wall.

“JARVIS,” she gasped, “start an alert for parameters--”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Behind her back Loki made a scolding sound, and she heard him snap his fingers. Green energy boiled up from the wall, dancing across the keypad – Jane jerked her hand back as it melted. “We’ll have none of that.”

Setting her teeth and screwing up her fiercest look, Jane turned back to him. Ludicrous though it was she had her fists raised. If he wanted to mess with her, she wouldn’t let him do it without a fight.

Having heard stories from both Thor and Erik, Jane expected him to mock her. To spit out some typical genocidal nonsense about the inferiority of humans, and her in particular. She prepared herself for vitriol.

To her surprise Loki did none of those things. In fact his expression when he looked at her was guarded, almost somber.

“Oh, good doctor. You’ll never believe me, but I am sorry for this. No doubt more than you’ll ever know.”

And before Jane could even try to process that, or say a single word, he raised a hand and – _blew_ something at her. She couldn’t tell if it was powder or magic he’d summoned from his palm.

It was the last thought she had before everything faded, and the world disappeared as she was dragged down into deepest slumber.

*

Thor was sitting alone in a room underneath a skylight. It was hard for him to put into words, but whenever it rained it always made him feel better to be someplace where he could see and hear the storm.

The fact that the gray sky offered a good reflection of his mood at present was only what he believed his mortal acquaintances might call ‘a bonus’.

Barring the sound of the falling water as it pattered against the glass all was quiet. Thor had been left to his own company, as he often was these days, unless one of his teammates needed his help with something or one of them had an especially persistent moment of trying to cheer him up. Mostly they seemed to understand he was in no real mood for jests or sport.

Tony Stark had been rather proud of himself, even downright gleeful, to inform Thor he had taken the liberty of getting his hands on a very large supply of mead. He’d added some to every bar in the building - of which Thor privately noted there was a somewhat odd goodly amount.

Thor was hardly averse to trying whatever strange new liquors his friends of Midgard preferred. And though Stark had done a good job the mead he had found was not quite like the mead of Asgard: for one thing it wasn’t nearly strong enough.

But the taste was familiar, and at times that small reassurance could offer him some comfort. So as he sat at present there was a flagon he’d poured in front of him, which he had been slowly nursing for a while. At times in lieu of anything else to look at, he gazed down into his glass.

His Asgardian compatriots, he suspected, would hardly recognize him now. But these days Thor spent much time sitting quietly and thinking.

His most pressing concerns were those he was powerless to take any action against. So instead he brooded, contemplating over why they even existed in the first place. And how much he would rather it were not so.

But wishing for something ardently, he knew well, was never enough to make it come true.

And so being a practical man, he was forced to simply accept and deal with the reality that had been presented to him. However grim and unhappy it may be.

_“My apologies for the intrusion.”_

A cultured voice spoke out of nowhere and Thor barely wasted a second glancing around for the source before he caught himself. By now he, like all the others, had grown accustomed to the presence of Stark’s mechanical, unseen manservant.

“There is no need to apologize, JARVIS.” He raised his glass for a drink. “I am occupied with nothing. Save perhaps my own thoughts.” He smiled ruefully. “From which I could probably use a distraction.”

 _“Well then it would appear, m’lord, that I have some good news.”_ JARVIS’ intonation, typically devoid of emotion as it was, could be hard to read. But Thor focused more intently as he realized the words were coming slightly rushed, hurried. _“I thought perhaps it best I inform you first – there has been an alert triggered on the security panel in Doctor Foster’s room, shortly before the panel was deactivated.”_

Thor stood. “Jane? Are you telling me she is in some danger?”

_“Without further information I cannot be certain, but that seems to be the most likely conclusion. Before it went offline the security system was able to perform a sweep of the room, and it read some energy levels identical to those previously recorded as responding to the individual identified in my databanks as ‘Loki’. You should probably-”_

But whatever advice the bodiless thrall had to offer was lost, as Thor had let loose with a roar of outrage.

 _“Loki!”_ Summoning Mjolnir and his armor, he bellowed his brother’s name. How _dare_ he?

After everything else he had done, he had the gall to attack the Lady Jane, involving her as a pawn in his manipulations and cruel antics? Well, if he wanted to provoke Thor’s wrath, certainly he had succeeded.

The storm outside exploded in a feast of dancing lightning and percussive bursts of thunder, the winds raised to a howl, as Thor rode hard on his anger all the way to where he knew Jane kept her quarters.

The door opened of its own accord as he approached, beckoning him inside. It was the clear sign of a trap but Thor didn’t even register it. Going with raised hammer first he rushed inside.

Whirling around, he looked for any sign of either Jane or his twisted brother. He started to call out, “Loki-”

But it turned out there was no need.

“Ah, you came alone. Good. I was hoping we could do this with a minimum of interruptions.”

Turning he found the source of the voice near the center of the room, eyeing him. Jane was laid out on her bed, fully clothed and above the covers, but otherwise giving every outward sign of being as asleep. Thor felt a quickening of relief in his heart as he watched carefully and saw her breathe.

Loki stood over her, giving her a cursory look with a tilt of his head. As Thor had entered he was in the midst of reaching out to gently brush a few locks of hair away from her face, smoothing them.

On anyone else it would’ve appeared an affectionate gesture. But this was Loki, and it could be only meant as a threat.

Thor’s fist tightened around his hammer’s shaft to even see him touching her.

“Stay away from her,” he ordered. “What have you done?”

“You can relax, Thor Odinson.” Stepping backward as bid with hands slightly raised, Loki informed him, “It is but the lightest enchantment. I have not poisoned her, cursed her, nor done anything to enslave her to my will. She merely sleeps, and only that.”

“Then wake her up!”

“No, not yet. Not until I’ve finished with you.”

Enraged and at a loss, Thor growled at him. “Why have you done this?”

“Well I had to find some way of getting your attention. It seems you come running whenever there’s a threat to the humans you call yourself guardian of.” He shot a look at Jane, smirking mirthlessly. “Especially those you regard with particular fondness.”

“Jane has nothing to do with this, Loki,” Thor expounded at him, pointing Mjolnir, serious. “Whatever game you are playing, there’s no need to involve her. And you’d be wise to consider the heights to which you truly wish to provoke my anger.”

Instead of launching a barb at Thor, the two of them exchanging taunts at one another – Loki frowned.

“Why do you always call it ‘a game’?”

That threw Thor off a step. “What?” he asked after a pause, bewildered.

“You always say that, over and over. Every single time. Everything I do to you: ‘a game’, ‘a jest’. ‘Madness’.” Loki paced casually away from Jane, closer toward the window. He shrugged with his hands. “I’ve raised armies and burned cities, trying to prove something to you. And yet you speak of it in such dismissive terms.” He turned to fix Thor in a dead-on stare. “Are you deliberately trying to goad me?”

Thor gaped at him, flummoxed. He had never thought of it that way before. For an instant he started to feel ashamed, worried at the potential carelessness of his own actions…and then he remembered, this was Loki. Who could not be trusted. Who used words as his worst weapon.

Could anything he said be listened to? Was it ever safe?

He narrowed his eyes. “I’ll not fall for your tricks, Loki. And I’ve little patience left, with Jane’s well-being hanging in the balance.”

Loki made a sound that was almost, _almost_ a sigh. “For once I do not come spoiling for a fight. I came here to talk.”

Thor flinched back in a startle, then as he recovered with a scoffing sound he made his way closer to where Loki stood. His voice was edging into mean laughter, “You want to _talk?_ We have tried that. Every time we meet, we exchange blows and also words.”

He grew harder as his anger bled through, the anger created out of his frustration over all these attempts, blocked every step of the way. “I plead with you for an explanation, and all you offer in return is insults. I try to make you see reason and you counter with poisonous boasts! We fall to shouting, cursing at one another.” Thor shook his head. “We’ve tried talking. What left is there to talk about?”

Loki closed his eyes briefly in what looked like annoyance, and turned away from him. “I yell into the hurricane, and it yells back at me with senseless gale. That _isn’t_ a conversation,” he muttered.

Even as his brow furrowed in confusion Thor scowled, hardly in the mood for riddles. “What?”

For a moment Loki gazed off into space, frowning contemplatively. When he turned his head in Thor’s direction again he took him in with scrutiny, something almost weary about his gaze.

“All our lives, there has been so much I’ve tried to make you see. But you never understand.”

This was…wrong. It felt too easy. Loki hadn’t spoken to him this civilly in ages, and he had never been so straightforward. It had to be a trick: a cheap shot, coming to Thor with open hand in supplication, remorse showing through. And then he would laugh at him mockingly as soon as he fell for it.

This twisted monster that had stolen his once-reasonable brother’s life. Used his cunning for destruction and evil. Thor could not afford to be so gullible. Not anymore. Far more lives than his own were counting on it.

But he would be a liar if he claimed that Loki’s words didn’t twist at him, digging up a confliction of emotions within his breast. That he didn’t suddenly find it less easy to be certain of what was true.

But ever was Loki’s gift. To twist the truth back on itself until it formed the most horrible things. To spin the sweetest, most charming fables out of nothing but lies.

Thor drew himself up, reminding himself to stand firm. He was poised with aggression and physical intimidation. Ready to do what needed done.

“What do you want, Loki?” he demanded, feeling they were all out of time for anything else.

“Oh no,” Loki countered, looking just as rigid and determined as Thor. “That’s the question _I_ need to be asking. What do _you_?”

“What?” Thor repeated yet again, once more thrown off-course.

“What do you want, Thor?” Loki insisted. “Tell me.”

This felt like a test that Thor should be wary of failing. But for once, strangely, he did not get the sense that Loki was rooting against him.

“You already know!”

“Oh, do I?” Loki returned. “Are you so certain?” He held his tongue a moment, pacing yet more.

Thor should have taken advantage of the distraction and lunged, but instead he watched him guardedly. Once this turned to a fight, whatever was happening now would be over. So he hung on anxiously, trying to see where Loki would go.

Loki asked him, turning around once more, “Do you want my death?”

Thor flinched, but he resolved himself. “I am willing to do whatever must be done,” he declared, “if that is what it comes to.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Loki shook his head, mouth set. “Do you want to kill me? Slay me, like all the monsters you bragged you would in your youth?”

“ _No_!” Thor’s voice rose in a howl of protest. “Even if you have become to an enemy to me and little else, I would never _desire_ your blood on my hands! These are things that you _make_ me do, Loki! It is never willing! Never!”

His outrage vented, Thor quieted, and he let loose his next words with a tired sigh.

“What I want is to _stop_ you. I have to. I can’t stand idly by, while you harm innocent lives, out of some goal to prove yourself that I do not understand.” He slumped and gazed up at his brother beseechingly. “Would I were that there could be some way other than bloodshed. But you persist, and keep taking away all other options.”

Loki folded his arms tightly, hands tucked beneath his forearms. “So if not my death then, what is it you desire? To drag me to Asgard, humiliated, to have me locked up in chains?”

“You know that isn’t why I brought you back,” Thor protested. “After what you did, you had to be punished. Asgard was the only place that I thought could contain you. I want your humiliation no more than I want your demise.”

“You speak of wanting to stop me. You use that as a shield, to hide behind – a noble goal you must put first. ‘Til then you can think of nothing else.” Loki’s words were always careful, no matter how effortless he made them seem, but this time he visibly poured over them before continuing. “But what if there were nothing to stop?”

Thor hesitated, wary. “I do not understand,” he admitted at length.

“I do not long for the comforts of Asgard’s prison cells any more than you long to put me there. And in case you haven’t noticed, I have so many other things on my plate.” He gave Thor an easy smile that carried with it a mocking air. “And so it would be much easier for me right now to simply not have to fight you. So what do you think? If I walked off and remained hidden, harmed no one, would you let me go?”

Thor frowned. “I do not think you could keep to such a bargain.”

“But what if I did?” Loki held up a finger, insistent. “Would you be content to let me be? Or would your pride demand you hunt me down and retrieve me?”

“There is more to it than simply prevention of further ills, Loki. There is justice,” Thor said, pointed. “You still must answer for other crimes.”

“Is ‘justice’ really so priceless?” Loki remarked. “You bind me but eventually I get out, and when I do I take whoever I can on the way, and turn on Asgard out of vengeance. And so the cycle begins anew. In the long run I’d wager it isn’t worth it.”

Thor longed to argue. But unfortunately these words spoke directly to a bleak, hopeless picture that had already been forming in his mind of late: that Loki would never be successfully caged, or redeemed by Asgard’s punishment. He would eventually free himself every time. And when he did, Thor would have to fight him all over again.

Their lives would be long, and they would spend them constantly at each other’s throats. It was a future that made Thor sick and exhausted to even contemplate.

He wondered how many times he’d face Loki in reality before he could take it no more, feel pushed to kill his brother, and kill his soul along with it.

“Is this what you came here to offer?” Thor realized, thinking he might have grasped understanding. “An uneasy truce? At least until the one called Selene has been dealt with?”

“I did hope to see how amicable you were to the idea,” Loki stated, hesitant. “Though on top of that I was also curious about…something more.”

Thor thought hard, weighing the options. He knew some of his Avengers brethren would not be happy, nor would the people of SHIELD. But then, many of them hadn’t been entirely pleased about Thor taking Loki and the Tesseract in the first place.

The damage done was Thor’s responsibility far more than it was that of the mortals.

They didn’t have to like the choices he made. They only had to stand aside when he made them.

“If you can in fact manage to find a place on Earth or some other realm to hide, and you will cause no mischief and remain out of the way,” he decided, voice grave, “then I see no reason not to leave you be. I will keep up my end of the bargain so long as you keep yours. I swear to it.”

“And if I remain in hiding forever, what then?” Loki’s flippant tone did not match the set of his expression. “You never did really answer my question. For once, you are the one who speaks many words at no purpose, brother. You still haven’t told me what it is that you want.”

“I do not understand what it is you are asking of me,” Thor said desperately. Had it only been his imagination that Loki had called him ‘brother’ for once without malice or irony?

Now it was Loki who turned impatient. “What is it that you want of _me?_ Or is it enough to wash your hands and be done with me?”

“I’ve told you before what it is that I would have,” Thor said, both heartfelt and annoyed. “For you to come home! Not as a prisoner, but as my family. For things to be as they were before.”

Loki’s eyes grew cold. “I thought you said you had changed.”

Thor spluttered, offended by what felt like a peace offering abruptly switched to an attack. But then, what else should he have expected? “I did! I have!”

Loki showed his teeth. It could not be remotely called a smile. “So only you get to grow, and become a different man? It is I who must fall back, and lock myself in place once more?”

Even Thor could see the unfairness of it, with it laid so plainly before him. Maybe things could never be _exactly_ the same again – that would take too much out of both of them. But…

“I have changed so as to learn to be a better man. To see many of my actions before as unworthy, and wrong,” Thor stated, heavy with humility. He swallowed, thinking of the particular nature of Loki’s “growth” in character. “But you-”

“Irrelevant,” Loki cut him off, flat. “It does not matter _how_. I am different now, as you are. Do you deny that?”

“No. But-”

“Then there is nothing more that need be said.” Loki walked away from him, widening the distance Thor had slowly been striving to close in on. “Only this: whether things can ever be mended betwixt us is _anything_ but certain.”

His back was completely to Thor – whether because he calculated no attack, or trusted him, it was impossible to say. Loki let out another sigh and leaned forward, his shoulders dropping. He looked tired. He sounded it too.

“But for it to ever happen then you must stop trying to beat me into submission. You cannot chase me down with longing for the past that is no more. I have changed. The Loki that was is gone now. You need to accept that. Accept that the only Loki that is, that you can have, is who I’ve become.”

Thor looked on the armored, shadowed figure before him.

“I do not like what you have become,” he said, petulant perhaps, but honest.

Loki turned just enough he could see one green eye across the heavy leather padding on his shoulder.

“Then you do not want me for your brother,” he replied, simple.

Thor stood feeling as if his thoughts and body alike had been plunged into a quagmire, mouth open. Before he could speak Loki had moved towards the window, evidently intending to take his leave.

“But no matter. You made an oath. I intend to hold you to it.”

“Wait!” Remembering what had brought them here Thor glanced back at the bed, frantic. “What about Jane? How do I restore her?”

Loki paused, and when he met Thor’s eyes again it was with a considering, thoughtful look.

“There is a tradition among many folktales of Midgard. That a sleeping maiden can be awoken by a kiss on the lips from someone who loves her.”

Thor gave a faint laugh in relief. “A kiss? Is that all?”

He moved toward the bed, smiling as he beheld Jane’s fair face.

Though he liked her best when her eyes were bright and her words flowed freely, punctuated by laughter and smiles, he could not deny she was beautiful even when she was fast asleep.

“Generally, it’s said that the kiss must be from one’s true love,” Loki said, warningly. “Are you so sure that must be you?”

Thor was already bent over to kiss her, face inches away, but he froze. Jane he knew was no longer certain of her affections for him – or so she had said. ‘True love’ was something often dictated by fate. It might not be him. What if it wasn’t?

What if he kissed her and nothing happened? What if this was the final proof that they were not meant to be?

“What will you do,” continued Loki, slow and meaningful, “if it is not your kiss that can awaken her?”

At the thought of Jane trapped forever in an enchanted slumber, Thor shoved aside his fears of a broken heart. He wanted them to be together, yes, but that was secondary to Jane’s happiness and well-being.

“If not me, then there must be someone. And I would find him, whatever it takes.” He knelt beside Jane’s bed and gently took her hand in his, staring fiercely at her face. His words were sharp with determination. “I will fly or ride or walk over every stretch of land and sea in all the Nine Realms to find the one who can free her. Be he in the sky or under the ground I will search until I find him, and bring him here. I will keep looking no matter how long it takes.”

He turned back to face Loki and question him further for details, but was stopped still by what he thought he glimpsed of Loki’s face.

For a moment it seemed Loki was smiling – a true, sincere smile. The likes of which Thor couldn’t remember having seen from him last.

But then Loki was gone too quickly to be sure, having stepped into the shadows at the corner of the room and vanished. His parting words were left hanging in the air.

“In that case, don’t worry about it. I’m sure you’ll serve just fine.”

*

Jane didn’t remember lying down in bed. She sure didn’t remember going to sleep.

Which begged the question of just how _tired_ she had been, when she suddenly found herself waking up, blinking groggy eyes at Thor’s intently concerned face.

“Mhhn…Thor?” she asked hazily, trying to piece together her memories.

His face brightened into a smile of elation, looking as love-struck as that first time he had said goodbye to her while leaving for Asgard.

And then she hadn’t seen him in months.

“It worked! I was able to wake you!” He cupped her face. “Oh, Jane – are you all right?”

“Let me get back to you on that. Why, what happened?” _And why are you in my bedroom?_ “Did I fall, or-? _Oh!_ ”

She trailed off in shock as it finally fit back together, and the cobwebs cleared. She stopped scrunching her forehead and sat right up, grabbing onto Thor at the shoulders.

“It was Loki! Loki was here, and he-”

“Yes, I know. I am so sorry for what happened. But he is gone now,” he promised her. “Did he harm you?”

“Not…not really,” she answered, bemused. She had to think about it, mainly because it didn’t make much sense. Loki was, well, _Loki._ He should have threatened her or blasted her or held a knife to her throat. Instead he had only put her sleep, apparently. And…

“He apologized.”

“Pardon?” Now Thor was the one blinking.

“Loki did. He apologized to me, for what he was about to do,” she recalled aloud. It was funny, as in funny-weird. “He didn’t even sound sarcastic.”

Thor didn’t answer her right away. There was a deeply contemplative expression on his face.

“He was acting very strangely,” he said at last. “I do not know exactly what he hopes to accomplish. And it would be foolish not to fear this is somehow the start of a new trick.” He shook his head, moving to gently embrace her – holding back, she could see, out of respect for her boundaries.

“But it does not matter, now. You are awake and unharmed. I’m only sorry you had to be put into danger in the first place.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said mildly. Since, well, it kind of was. But it wasn’t as if he had wanted or _made_ it happen. She reached to the side of her temple, trying to straighten her hair which she imagined must be mussed from lying down. “I’m fine, now. But what was that you were saying when I first woke up?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know…about being able to wake me. What was that about?”

“Ah.” Thor’s smile turned awkward. Slowly he pulled his hands away from her, retreating a distance back. “It’s hard to explain.” He cleared his throat. “Well, no. Not really. But Loki – he indicated to me that someone needed to kiss you in order to break his spell.”

Jane’s eyelashes fluttered as she tried to take that in, agog. “I was under a ‘Sleeping Beauty’ curse?”

“I do not know what that means,” Thor responded with careful wariness.

She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead, trying to explain. “It’s, um, it’s a story we have here on Earth. Well, not Earth entirely – mostly in Europe and the Western World. I think.” She was overdoing it; stopping, she made herself try and be more succinct. “The name’s pretty self-explanatory. But the same thing happens to her: an evil sorceress puts a curse on her so she falls asleep for a hundred years.”

Thor asked, in that earnestly soft way he sometimes had, “Until a kiss from her true love wakes her up?”

“Oh, Thor.” At first her heart sank. It was hard to even look at him, with that hopeful expression on his face.

But then she reconsidered. “Wait, were you afraid that it wasn’t going to work?”

It seemed incongruent at best using the word ‘bashful’ to ever describe a person like Thor. But previous experience had taught Jane it could be oddly relevant.

Though perhaps never more than until this very moment.

“I care deeply about you. I believe that I always will. But considering what you told me before…” It looked as if he needed a moment. “Though it breaks my heart, Jane, I would see that you be happy. I am willing to fight for you, to do whatever it takes to prove myself,” he affirmed. “But I am also willing to stand aside, if there is another, or if my presence somehow gets in that very happiness’ way.”

Jane didn’t know what to say to that. She really, really didn’t.

She wasn’t made of stone. Her heart swelled, and she was touched by a giddy, romantic flush.

And part of her absolutely wanted to say that was what she had needed to hear, and fling herself into Thor’s arms.

But a big romantic gesture didn’t change anything. The situation still remained as it was: uncertain, untenable.

However. The gesture was still certainly nice.

And it was enough to make her think.

Smiling gently, she reached out and patted Thor’s cheek. “You and I do need to have a talk,” she conceded. “I don’t know what there is to talk about, exactly. I don’t know that it will make any difference. A part of me – a big part, even – doesn’t think that it can. But at least we need to see if we can’t come to some sort of resolution over this.”

She pulled her hand back – slowly, reluctantly – and she sighed.

“I guess I thought if I just walked away, I would only be doing the same thing to you that you did to me. But that isn’t fair. You didn’t mean to do that, and I can’t keep holding it against you. It doesn’t do me any good, either.”

“So, what does this mean for us?” Thor asked tentatively. He seemed lost, hanging on her every word for guidance.

“I’m not sure. I just don’t know yet. I think it’s going to take some time before I ever do.” She placed her small hands over his, holding his big palms between her slender fingertips. He let her, with no resistance. Following her lead without a second thought. “But I’m willing to sit down with you and try to figure that out.”

She looked up at him, suddenly feeling a bit timid, though she had no second thoughts about her decision. “Is that…does it work? Is that okay with you?”

Thor squeezed her hands back in his grip, tight but gentle. He moved from the bedside, getting on one knee so that their faces remained on the same level.

“Yes. It does,” he told her, a smile gradually blooming once more on his face. “All I asked for is a chance to prove myself to you, Jane. To show you that what we have is not impossible. Thank you for giving it to me.”

Meeting her eyes he took up one of her hands, and kissed the back of it, meaningfully. The echo of their previous interactions was strong, and clearly intentional.

And even though nothing was set in stone, and there was still a good chance they weren’t going to get that “happily ever after”, something about it still made Jane feel radiant inside.

“I guess we’ll just have to see what happens from here on out,” she told Thor.

“Yes,” he agreed, sweetly, “we will.”


	8. Duality

A palace as big as that of Asgard’s had many places to hide. Almost so much as to the point where the act of hiding itself lost all sense of challenge.

For those of trickster blood, however, this didn’t at all mean giving up. It only meant they would have to find ways to take the action further.

It was a chill morning – at least to those used to a near-eternal summer realm, prone to reacting to any dip in temperature or the slightest bit of frost with grumbling and a shiver.

The eldest Lokison felt no such compunction. He was outside, ignoring the minimal cold, shrouded in layers of black and gray as he perched in an orchard tree. It was an old tree with winding branches, and Wyclef had a seat at the thick intersection of two such limbs, his back propped upright against the trunk. The craggy branches and rough bark made it look deceptively uncomfortable, but the young sorcerer felt right at home as if he was nestled on a divan.

It was one of his favorite spots to be outdoors. It was isolated, and though he could be clearly seen if anyone on the nearby paths looked up, no one ever did. And so he could observe as he liked, unnoticed.

 _“Like father, like son”,_ his mother laughed, when he “lurked” in the background of crowded rooms, half-hidden in shadow, a thoughtful but emotionless expression on his face. He didn’t care much for the rowdy company of others, or their conversations, or really people at all – save what amusement he could gain by watching them.

But so what? Wyclef liked it in the shadows. He belonged there. They were _his_.

He was the man, it was said, his father would’ve been, if only fear of what others thought and longing to impress hadn’t tempered him. A gifted mage and ardent rune-speaker with no proficiency at all with martial combat or weapons. Wyclef refused to learn how to fight in the physical realm, how to be a “real” Asgardian. He thought it beneath him.

Not to say that he couldn’t be dangerous. A fact which was well-known. The same men that sneered at his supposed inferiority started and cowered in fright when he cast so much as a half-lidded look their way.

His father trained him since early on in the art of magic. He had been a gifted and canny pupil. And now that he was grown, he continued learning – from far-flung sources and ancient tomes, of things it was said made even his father nervous.

Old magic. Dark magic. Spells that came by walking strange paths, and letting the things that haunted there brand its user forever.

‘Evil’ was a highly subjective term, especially in the spiritual and metaphysics. But it was true that the spells Wyclef preferred had a bite to them, a bitter taste, a lingering coldness; a creeping nature that spoke of venom and corruption. And yes, delving deep and frequently had left permanent change on his aura.

He found it all fascinating. Like his father before him he hungered for knowledge and the thrill that came from knowing he’d increased his power through his own cunning and hard work. And he could never get enough.

At present there was heavy book on his lap he was reading, with a darkened and worn leather cover, handwritten pages bound unevenly and slightly stiff to turn. Wyclef studied the pages closely, tracing the coded and foreign words with rapt interest.

Resting on one page between the creases where he had left it as an impromptu bookmark was the painted card he had been carrying around with him all morning. A token of the tarot deck: the Moon.

His eyes drifting to it momentarily, Wyclef tapped the card with one black-painted nail, giving it his thought.

The tarot had been introduced to him also by his mother, who gave him his first deck as a birthday present, remarking most normal parents usually tried to keep their teenagers _away_ from such things. But Wyclef had already showed an interest in tossing runes and his grandmother was teaching him how to use a glass or pool of water to scry. And so Lady Darcy had thought he should have a chance to study a more mortal form of fortunetelling as well.

Like all created tools of divination the tarot deck had some inherent properties that were useless in the hands of someone who wasn’t armed with belief and at least a slight amount of talent. Clear and summoned on command prophecies through meditation were the property of a born seer, but a magic user with practice and patience could glean a kernel of insight from time to time.

Wyclef had shuffled the cards through a handful times the past few days. It seemed time enough for it – though not enough of the details had been given out of some ridiculous need to “protect” him, he knew the obvious. Danger loomed on the horizon and was threatening to circle its way around his father and everyone connected to him.

The way Father was acting was proof enough. Wyclef held his tongue when everyone repeated “distraction” and “worry” as an excuse. But he knew it couldn’t be the whole truth.

Though concealed and hard to read he saw something…off every time he looked at his father. Something that didn’t seem to belong, lingering in his spiritual essence like the perfume of some exotic land he’d visited. The man was up to something. Maybe dabbling in things he didn’t want anyone else to know about.

Wyclef intended to figure it out eventually. But for now he was content to play along.

Turning the flat object between long fingers he returned his attentions to the tarot card.

The readings he had cast were aimless ones, not driven by any specific question but a vague eye to the future, letting the portents scatter and trying to pick his way among whatever came up. There had been few themes in common, but the Moon had reappeared again and again. Nearly every single time, in fact.

Darkness. Mystery. Danger. Well, no great revelation to be had there, on the surface. Everyone on Asgard knew that there was some sort of danger at foot. Everyone from the scullery wenches to the old men on the advisor’s council was whispering about it, gossiping like idle children.

But there was another facet to the Moon that Wyclef couldn’t help thinking was significant. The associations of its meaning often spoke to _hidden_ danger, specifically. More was going on than there was to immediately realize.

Was the threat everyone worried about worse than they realized? Or was there possibly something else entirely – an enemy about to sneak up on them while they were distracted, a danger no one saw coming?

Either way, it was something to think about.

He tucked the Moon back into his book, for now closing the pages. A light wind came along and rustled the branches, disturbing the careful folds of his clothing, but Wyclef didn’t move, didn’t blink.

That card among the deck had been the most frequent reoccurrence, but it hadn’t been the only one. He’d seen the Wheel of Fortune more than a few times, which hinted at a major event about to happen – though it could be a turn of good luck or a catastrophic misfortune just as easily as the other. And the Chariot had also shown its head more than once, which was reassuring: it predicted ultimately there would be triumph through perseverance.

But yet a final card had surfaced, four times out of ten, which among the calculated odds meant fate was trying to tell him something.

Death had showed itself in his hand. A major change coming. And sometimes, important to remember, the meaning of that card could turn out to be very literal.

There was a dry, crackling caw above him and Wyclef looked up.

The magpie he’d created as his familiar circled overhead a few times before gliding down to land in the branches above him. With a series of brief sounds, beak clicking, it hopped over and made its way to his shoulder.

Wyclef stroked the glossy feathers with one hand. “Any news for me, my pretty pet?”

The bird’s eyes flashed in a way far too canny to be natural. There was something about Ikol that unsettled most people at the sight of him, a fact that made his master smile darkly to himself.

The small sharp beak lingered close to Wyclef’s ear.

 _“Master’s father is on his way here, oh yes.”_ The strange whisper would’ve sounded far-off and muttered to anyone but Wyclef, who heard clearly every word. _“Master should take care. Trickster has a dark cloud over him. Strange. Out of place.”_

“Hmm, yes.” Frowning to himself, he petted the bird again. “I’ve noticed.”

Ikol gave a caw, and perhaps it was only inference from the wind. But it sounded a bit like a croaking, evil laugh.

_“Familiar.”_

Wyclef turned his head a bit so he could look at the creature, curiously, out of one eye.

“Is it, now?” he murmured thoughtfully.

Familiars, real ones, not weak and fickle sendings, were often made by capturing the remnants of a departed soul. Though Wyclef had found a way to do something slightly different. It was not so much a soul that had gone into Ikol’s making as a remnant of energy he had found lurking about the palace – a ghost, so to speak, of another kind.

But Wyclef remained silent on the subject for the moment. He waited.

Before long, sure enough, he was met with the sight of his father walking up the path. He appeared distracted, focused only on the ground and gardens directly in front of him. But Wyclef knew his father; he had no doubt Loki had seen him right away.

“Good morning, Father,” he called, and the man did not start – he merely stopped and turned his head up.

“Wyclef.” The name rolled in a clipped fashion off his tongue. “What are you doing there?”

Wyclef gave a small, sardonic smile. “Do I need an excuse to take in the fresh air?” He opened his book again and gave the appearance of reading it studiously, pointed. “You know how Mom is always complaining I spend too much time _cooped up_ in dusty libraries.”

“What a good boy you are, to keep minding your mother so after you are no longer considered under her care,” his father returned dryly.

Wyclef lowered the book in his lap to better look back at him. Ikol had hopped to a branch again, and was making that laughing caw.

Loki’s eyes lingered on the bird absently before moving on to his child. His expression was mostly impassive, but under careful scrutiny there seemed to be a note of distaste.

Wyclef often caught his father giving him scowling looks, though they were minor ones. He thought his eldest went out of his way to be ‘different’ in a fashion that was unbecoming, even ridiculous. He suspected it was for sake of drama alone his son always dressed “like he was on his way to watch a funeral pyre". He disliked the habit Wyclef had picked up on Earth of wearing dark nail polish, and the small silver ring he had in each ear.

(He would’ve probably had quite a few things to say if he found out it wasn’t the only thing Wyclef had pierced. Skadi forever fell back on the threat to tell their parents, since she’d walked in on her brother dressing and seen another set of rings in his chest to match.

Though maybe it’d be worth the scene to prove once and for all there was nothing they could do about it. He was twenty-two, and what he did with his body was his own damn business.)

Though he was silent about it in front of those outside the family, Loki thought his son wasn’t careful enough when it came to his magic. And occasionally he grew anxious about the rumors that’d start to swirl. About the things Wyclef was capable of – his secret desires and amusements.

Wyclef often coldly rebuked him, refusing to give any straight answers. If his father was really willing to think the worst of him, he could sit and stew in it. The truly perverse things were untrue, anyway.

The real truth was that far from outlandish and grotesque sensual experiments, the young prince had yet to do…anything. With anyone.

Flesh held an anatomical, intellectual curiosity for him, but anything more than that he reacted to with indifference, sometimes even discomfort. At the thought of the ways two or more bodies could be entwined, he only came away cold. He just wasn’t interested, a fact he couldn’t explain to anyone, anymore than he could understand it himself.

Maybe his father suspected that. Maybe that was yet another thing that worried him.

But though Wyclef had long grown used, with an internal sigh, to seeing that stern set to his father’s brow and that concern lurking in his eyes - today, this was different. Father looked on him in a way that hinted of outright disapproval, if a suppressed one.

“Have I done something to offend you, Father?” Wyclef asked him, airy but curious. “You seem upset.”

Quickly the face looking at him changed, shifting to careful blankness before being purposefully re-worked to a casual, friendly look.

“Of course not. Unless, that is, you think there’s something you’ve done I _should_ be offended by?”

Wyclef wasn’t fooled. But he gave a feigned response in kind. “If you can’t find anything to scold me for, why should I tell you?” And he raised his book to cover his face.

Father gave a forced, tired laugh. The sound was genuine; Wyclef had a lingering suspicion though that he was in the dark as to its true cause.

“You know, boy, I think that you really are _too_ like me for your own good.”

And with that note as a civil enough farewell, he smirked at the youth still perched in his tree and returned to the path, going on his way.

Slowly Wyclef lowered his book and watched the back of him intently, carefully as he departed.

The magpie that had kept silent now bounced back and forth on the branches, wings flapping as the familiar squawked.

Wyclef nodded.

“Yes indeed, Ikol. Most strange,” he murmured.

*

If there was anything about this too cheery, too familial version of Asgard that served to truly unsettle him, Loki thought, it was the sons his alternate self had fathered.

He had not met the second boy, but had seen resemblance enough in captured images (mixed in with equal parts resemblance to the mortal mother, a fact which made him queasy). The youngest boy was still little more than a baby, a child that too looked like him but had no persona, no opinions of its own, unformed. There was an unnerving echo there, of himself in his earliest youth, though ultimately no more.

And then there was the eldest. “Wyclef” – a name that Darcy had informed him was “derived from the Middle English”, which he gathered was simply another way for saying it was a mortal name, simply one so old it was no longer commonly used. It passed for Asgardian about as much as Wyclef himself, which was to say not nearly enough.

Loki should have been pleased, even smug to find a child that so boldly defied Asgard’s unwritten rules and barbarian expectations. Instead the very sight of the boy left him recoiling. Triggered something in him he hadn’t the words to describe.

He was a very odd, dark little creature. The sorcerer-scholar Loki had always wanted to be in his boyhood, and absolutely nothing else. With no regard for what any thought of him.

To be proud and self-assured was one thing. To be composed to the point of impassivity was another. He seemed unnatural, with a spiritual aura that reeked of things from another world. That damn familiar with too bright, too clever eyes watching Loki in a knowing manner that seemed unnervingly like looking into a mirror.

In short, the youth was as he’d said, too much like Loki – a leaner, overshadowed, sharper-edged version of Loki. An odd possibly he wasn’t prepared or willing to fully contemplate the implications of.

And so he was content to put the child out of his sight. It was his preferred tactic for dealing with much of this frustrating world. The simplest, most efficient thing he knew what to do with any of it.

In fact, after a few days of internal writhing, teeth gritted, and having to come to the conclusion that he’d reached his limits, it was what he now planned to do at the first opportunity.

Put all of Asgard, and these miserable complications that threatened to trick and confuse him from the absolute truths he depended on, far and away out of his sight.

Of course there was more to the plan than that. In addition to escape, he had something else in mind. Loki always did prefer to make all his objectives twofold.

And he’d yet to meet a window that he couldn’t apply to with a malicious practicality.

But that would come later. All in good time.

For now, he was on his way to a meeting. _His brother_ had sent a summons, wanting to speak with him.

As he entered the threshold of the palace he had glided his way between only a few golden columns before Darcy appeared, slipping her way right to his side. Loki braced himself, visibly bristling, but said or did nothing to dissuade her. They had their _understanding_ , after all.

How glad he would be when he was finally done with her. Soon as it would be, it couldn’t come soon enough.

Her own body language was tense toward him, and unfeeling, even as she fell into step beside him and slipped both her arms around his, hand going to his forearm and letting him be her escort.

“I don’t suppose you have any idea what Thor wants any more than I do?” she asked with uneasy interest.

“A few things come to mind,” he replied, tone empty.

She waited but he didn’t offer anything else. He saw her make an annoyed face, but she didn’t satisfy him by trying to pry.

“Whatever. And I guess you won’t tell me this either, but I was wondering where you’ve been today. Erik told me he saw you locked up in your study.”

“Oh, nothing you need be concerned about.” He was purposefully casual and light-hearted. “Merely making preparations for a journey.”

Darcy stopped dead still in her tracks. She pulled away and took a few steps back, staring at him.

Loki kept walking at first but eventually paused as well, turning slowly to look back at her.

“A journey?” she repeated. “Where? What – you’re leaving Asgard?”

“Oh, yes. I feel too confined here, too bored. And I’m certain you can agree it will be much better for the ruse for me to carry myself and my ‘restlessness’ out of sight.” He grinned at her, sharp. “I’ve gathered that leaving on my own for a short time is not at all out of character.”

“Well, no, but…” She trailed off, shaking her head. Her gaze was accusing and wide. “What are you up to?”

Loki smirked, feeling the satisfaction that came of watching a snare close irrevocably around some prey.

“I thought that I would pay a visit to Midgard,” he said carelessly, bright. “I understand I have friends there.”

The alarm in Darcy’s face was poignant. But instead of protesting immediately she managed to keep her words careful. “I thought you promised Loki that you would stay on Asgard.”

“He offered me the _advice_ that doing so would be best. I conceded that he was probably right. But I promised nothing.” Loki allowed his expression to sour. “Nor would I feel at all bound into keeping it, if I had.”

“You _jerk,_ ” she cried, instantaneous. “You’re going to go to Earth and do something horrible! Take advantage of Loki’s connections and find some twisted way to use them to your benefit.”

“Oh, maybe I am, Darcy.” He took a few steps closer, bending towards her in a threatening manner. “But I think even now you’re too invested and wary to tell the truth to Thor or anyone with the power to stop me. So what are you going to do about it?”

As he anticipated she said nothing to answer. She merely stood frozen in place, flinching back slightly from the sight of the sneer on his face, shoulders raised defensively.

He waited a minute longer but still Darcy could seem to offer no reply.

He thought that spoke for itself, and his eyes flashed as he nodded to her, considering the matter settled.

Whirling around Loki turned his back on her, feeling a cruel sense of superiority as he strode off, not waiting for her to follow.

And because he never bothered to look back again he didn’t see the way she frowned as she took on an expression of deepest thought.

*

With great reservation and begrudging, not to mention a sinking feeling, Thor had come to terms with the fact that he could no longer wait to see what happened.

The situation with Selene was too dire to begin with, perhaps. Though he had hoped to at least learn more of what there was of the situation before they tried to form a plan of attack.

But the signs were beginning to point to this not being the wiser course.

He only hoped his brother would spare him the indignity of mentioning he had been right after all. Loki could often be petty – but Thor hoped that pettiness would not show under so serious a circumstance. He had already managed to convince himself it wasn’t out of spite that Loki had been so withdrawn from him as of late.

Well, mostly managed to convince himself, anyway.

When Loki walked into the room Thor managed a brief smile, in spite of both that lingering doubt and the severity of the cause for which they had to meet.

“Greetings, brother. I’m glad that you could join us.”

“When my king calls, what choice do I have but to answer?” Loki answered in a manner somehow both serious and airy at once. He looked up to Thor and respectfully nodded. Looking around he took in that both their parents were also there, as well as Jane and Heimdall. Though obviously surprised he said nothing. “Besides, somehow I got the impression that this has something to do with me.”

“Indeed it does,” Thor confirmed.

He was seated on the golden throne of the king’s audience hall. Though the seat had been his for years now, he still sometimes reacted to holding this position with discomfort, as if it were not meant to belong to him. Especially times like this, when most of those around him were friends and loved ones.

But this was the best place to carry on such congress. And odd though it felt a bit, Thor _was_ king. It was his place.

A short distance behind her husband, Darcy trailed silently into the hall. Loki didn’t look back at her and she didn’t move to join him, instead electing to remain removed, practically leaning against the wall. Thor met her eyes and she merely nodded hello, telling him by her eyes to take no note of her and continue.

He was puzzled, but followed her unspoken request.

“I have asked you all here so that we may speak of a matter that I’m sure has been on all our minds of late: Selene Kinslayer.”

Though outwardly nothing changed, something seemed to momentarily flare in Odin’s one eye at the name. Frigga glanced to him and touched his arm to offer reassurance.

“I had thought as much,” Loki murmured.

“Though the danger she poses is certainly no small one,” Thor continued, “at first there seemed to be nothing we could really do short of making ready to prepare for her assault. But we believe that this has changed.”

“It does not surprise me to hear it,” Heimdall intoned. Though it was not impossible for the watchman to leave his post, it was a rare and unsettling sight all the same. An indication of how important this conference they held together was. “Though my gaze only extends as far as the worlds bordering our own, I have gotten the sense that somewhere out there, beyond the void, something has happened. Over the recent days I have seen…strange things.”

Jane looked to him, inquisitive. She stood facing the others on the same side of the room as Thor. As queen, she held a place closest to the throne, just off to one side.

“What kind of things?” she asked Heimdall.

His heavy golden eyes shifted to meet hers. Jane did not flinch. Long had she spent time in the company of the Bifrost’s guardian while studying his charge, and she had come to be very familiar with his manner.

“Signs and portents, my queen, that point towards a disturbance in the cosmic life force.”

“As Selene tears her way through so many worlds, she affects all of them,” Odin stated. “Even the ones she does not touch. The connection travels.”

“Yes, especially when it is a ‘connection’ she takes advantage of to begin with.” Loki looked first to the All-Father, then to Thor. “Selene makes her way through a corruption of the joint nature of parallel realities. Every time she kills off one of my alternate selves, she uses that excess energy temporarily created to rip her way to the next closest world.”

“I thought we already knew this,” Thor said.

“Knowing is one thing. The reality, the extent to which she’s doing this, is beginning to have an effect.” Loki raised a hand, gesturing elegantly with his fingertips. “Something like a greater version of Yggdrasil connects the lives of one version of me to the next. Now there is a vacuum out there that was previously filled, an emptiness that was before occupied by hundreds of lives. Who knows what damage she’s caused?”

Thor swallowed, unable to keep from picturing Selene stalking a blood-soaked trail towards them, leaving a street littered with corpses that looked like Loki in her wake.

But his brother was not done talking.

“More than that, every time she does this, for a short while as the portal is opened one world bleeds into the next. A little bit is harmless. But repeated over and over? And the reality she is in is getting closer and closer to our own.”

“The nightmare I had recently, it was no nightmare,” their mother joined in, her voice soft but clear for all the emotion it carried. “It was the experience lived by another version of myself, in another world.” She paused only briefly. “When she watched her child slain right before her eyes.”

Thor raised a hand to his chin, combing his beard in absent thought, troubled by this for multiple reasons.

“This is possible? Seeing into what has happened in one of the neighboring worlds through one of those that lives there?”

“Directly seeing and feeling what another life experiences is rare, but not impossible,” Odin confirmed in a voice of sage knowledge. “Strong emotions, intuitions can travel well, especially in dreams. But for your mother to have experienced what she did, Selene must be very close.”

“This dream was an extreme example,” Loki chimed in, “but it isn’t the only sign. Anyone sensitive to such things would be able to feel a thinning in the walls. For several days, I have sensed strange energies and impressions.”

“As have I,” the All-Father claimed.

“So what do we do about all this?” Jane questioned, growing more and more alarmed. “I mean, Selene still isn’t in our reality yet. Is there anything we can do until then?”

“I had considered that.” Thor sat slightly back in his throne, right arm braced against the rest on one side. “Brother, when you were able to allow us to visit our closest neighboring timeline in the company of the Avengers – could you be able to do that again?”

Loki lifted his head, mouth set though there was a spark in his eyes showing he was intrigued. “Perhaps. Though I would need access to…certain resources. And a conduit.”

Thor nodded, and turned his attention to the gatekeeper. “And you, Heimdall? Do you think that with your mastery over the Bifrost you could allow the gate to briefly parse the space between more than the Nine Realms?”

“Perhaps.” Heimdall’s voice was flat. He didn’t seem enthused by the prospect. “But it would require alterations to the device itself.” He dipped his head. “Ones that might become permanent, and that I would not at all recommend.”

“But it can be done?” Thor insisted.

Heimdall was briefly silent. It was the only sign of disapproval he gave. “Yes.”

“Thor…” Jane was looking at him now, in sharp disbelief. “I don’t get it. What are you thinking?”

“So far as we know, Selene must still visit this other world first, in order to get to ours.” He raised a fist. “The Avengers may stand between her and the Loki that would become her next victim.”

Loki gave a low but quite audible laugh. “I would not be so sure of that.”

“As you’ve said.” Thor remained serious in the face of his brother’s dark amusement. “So I would have that there be something more in her way. I propose to send an army of soldiers to this place.”

“From Asgard?” Jane was discomfited. “Our Asgard? Won’t that just make the situation _worse?_ If the problem is realities bleeding through…”

“I’m sure the other Loki will appreciate that,” Loki remarked archly. “A legion of sitters to dog his every step.”

“Silence, please.” Thor held up a hand, speaking in a booming voice. At his command both fell silent, Loki regaining composure and Jane not concealing the frown on her face. “It is not a perfect plan. This I am well aware. But I’ve decided it is the best course of action. Until, possibly, we can somehow do more.”

He spoke with an air of finality, for in truth he had already good as made his decision. What his family had to tell him only further convinced him it was right.

Loki listened, and contemplating the look on his face, gave him a slight bow.

“As you wish,” he agreed, all smooth concordance. “It’s clear you do this out of concern for me, so who am I to doubt your orders?”

In the back of the chamber Thor could barely see Darcy, but it looked like she was muttering something to herself, and shaking her head.

Jane was not so easily swayed. “Thor, this is crazy,” she protested. “With everything I know as a scientist, do you really expect me to sit aside and let you do this?”

“Oh no, Jane. Not at all.” Even through his gravity he gave her an earnest smile. “For I imagine your help will be needed to alter the Bifrost along with Heimdall and Loki.”

His wife breathed in. Loki cast at her a strange sidelong look. Heimdall said nothing, remaining completely stoic.

“Please, Jane?” Thor urged, gently.

Finally Jane exhaled with a curt sigh. “Fine,” she surrendered. “I’ll do it, because you asked me to. And because I’m worried too, and can’t think of another way. But I still don’t like it.”

“Thank you, my love. Heimdall,” Thor looked at him, “you too have voiced your objections.”

“I did. And I stand by them. But I will do as you ask.”

“Then this is what I ask you to do,” Thor ordered him, clearly. “See that it is done.”

Loki stepped forward, bent slightly in a manner like a supplicant. “I of course will do my part as well, brother. Though, so long as I have the opportunity, I bid leave to ask – when this is done, I would request permission to travel away for a while, and visit Midgard. To clear my head, and take in a change of pace.”

Thor chuckled. “You have hardly ever needed my permission before. But, since you ask, I grant it. Go, enjoy yourself. Send my greetings to our friends. And be careful. Danger lurks around every corner these days.”

Loki smiled at him. “Indeed it does,” he agreed, meaningful.

An unexpected voice suddenly split the air. Taking a step away from his wife, their father moved to take up the very center of the floor in front of the throne. Loki quickly stepped back out of his way.

Hands at his sides, even in simpler robes retaining the regal posture of a statesman Odin lifted his head, looking upward as the lights of the chamber glinted off the patch covering his blinded eye.

“My king…my son. Hear me.”

“Go on,” Thor urged softly, respectful. “I am listening, Father.”

Odin might have no longer been king, but he would forever be All-Father. The man stood with respect and bearing. He still had the power to intimidate with a look alone. And every line of his face and note of his voice spoke of great wisdom. It was beyond strange, almost frightening for Thor to look down on him, to be bowed to by him and give him commands.

But though Thor would always feel a reverence for him, an ingrained urge to live and die by his approval, it was undeniable even to him that his father seemed diminished now that the throne was no longer his.

His steps were slower when he walked. He often would sit in one space for hours, merely looking to the sky. He rarely used magic and when he did, his breath would sometimes become alarmingly labored.

Odin All-Father was old. Without a crown to hold his head up high for any longer, he seemed to have given in to the weight of his age. When Thor looked at him now he could see it: the distant memories in his eye, of journeys had and battles long fought. Of all the lives he had witnessed come and gone.

Especially now. For when he spoke, there was pain in his voice along with his nobility, and grief in the lines threatening the composure of his face.

“You know I too have had my experiences with Selene. I urge you to remind yourself of all you know of her before you do this.” Odin’s words were even and resonant, striking a peal as loud as that of Thor’s hammer. “She is a monster. No normal man can face her. To do so would only guarantee their destruction.”

Though still tempered with conviction his speech turned into a plea. “The warriors of Asgard that serve you, that once served me, are brave and strong. But they will not be enough. Selene will tear them apart and only use them to grow stronger.”

Thor managed to keep his voice from going hoarse. “You do not agree with me, Father?”

“I can see the good that you are trying to do. And as you are king, your orders are to be followed,” Odin replied. “I would not speak out against you.” He inhaled. “But I believe that the choice you are making is wrong. I beseech you to reconsider.”

Thor rested both hands on the arms of his throne. He looked to his father and met his gaze, held it. Taking in the wounded wisdom in that face, of a man who had made his own mistakes, and would not see them repeated.

He felt he could not sit by any longer, that there had to be some measure taken. But now he felt conflicted.

Reaching out Frigga took her husband’s hand between both of hers, squeezing it.

“Asgard is yours to command, my king,” she reminded her son, bowing her head respectfully. “Any decision you make is just, so long as you believe in it and are willing to stand by it.”

It was not a perfect solution, and in truth he had never felt entirely at ease. But it was far better than nothing. And ultimately he felt good about what he was trying.

“All of you have given me your opinions,” he told the assembly. “And many of you have voiced your objections. Your counsel was wise, and I thank you all for giving it. I promise I have considered your words.”

He cleared his throat so that his next words would be loud and certain.

“But I remain firm in my decision. We will send the guards to Asgard, so that they might do a part in thwarting Selene.”

Thor looked around the room once more, but no one spoke. He saw no signs of rebellion, merely acceptance, obedience – in some cases something more like resignation.

He nodded to himself, satisfied.

“Begin the preparations immediately,” he finished. “Do what you must to see our will done.”

*

Normal people, Clint was aware, tended to utter the phrase _“Another day, another dollar”._ Yet another thing Clint and normal people didn’t have in common.

Not to say that his compensation with SHIELD wasn’t adequate. It was more than that. But for him, it had never been about the money.

 _“Another day, another duty”,_ that’s how it went for him. It summed up his relationship with his work just perfect.

Clint enjoyed his job. Except when he didn’t. Usually because he was stuck following some order he’d rather not be. But barring combat situations where he had to think on the fly, he followed his orders.

Because that was what being part of SHIELD was. And as of right now, he still had no reason not to be.

So when he got landed with escort duty – kind of beneath his ranking, really – and to someone he wasn’t entirely sure whether or not he wanted to see again, well, there Clint was. Standing on the deck of the Helicarrier in his black jacket, arms folded. Watching as the plane landed.

Watching as the ramp came down and an older man with thinning blond hair, carrying a suitcase and a briefcase departed.

“Agent Barton.” The smile wasn’t entirely forced. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Dr. Selvig.” When all he gave in return was a nod, the scientist’s smile became a bit of an awkward grimace.

The fact was Clint was never sure how he wanted to react to Selvig. The man was decent enough, though he could at times come off as standoffish and obsessive. Still, Clint had put up with a lot worse.

But then there was that element of history. Namely, what’d happened to them both – that they’d both been there, enslaved to the Tesseract, pawns of Loki’s mind control.

The experience should’ve been a bond, maybe. In a way it kind of was; there was a slight camaraderie felt between the two of them, an unspoken understanding that they’d been through something no one else had. It was mild, though, and it wasn’t enough.

Not enough to counter that being around the man was a _reminder_ of Loki. That the sight of his face was enough for a flashback to try and get triggered.

Selvig coughed, standing there uncertainly as Clint bent down to retrieve his suitcase. “Oh, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Clint gazed at him in a manner lacking hostility, which for him passed for ‘friendly’. Selvig had never seemed to get that, even before Loki. “How was your flight?”

“It was fine.” He waved a hand, dismissive. “The usual. Jetlag, stale food. Even SHIELD can’t change that.”

Clint started walking and the other man followed without needing him to request it. He led the way inside.

“They’re transferring you to New York for the time being.”

“I heard. Evidently they want me to come live with you people in your ‘Avengers Tower’.” He made a noise, clearly not sure what he thought about it. “Well, it will be good to see Jane again, in any case. And Darcy, of course.” He paused. “How’s Thor?”

“Could be better, last I checked,” Clint offered noncommittally. Selvig gave him a look indicating he expected him to go on, however, so he tried adding some details. “I’m given to understand he and Dr. Foster aren’t reconnecting so well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Selvig hesitated. “Well…sorry, and a little relieved,” he confessed. “Thor is a lot of things, many of them hard to object to. But I was never sure how it could work out in the long run for him and Jane.”

The last thing Clint was qualified to comment on or interested in discussing was other people’s relationship problems. So he went on.

“Thor’s also having family troubles.”

“Ah.” The other man went still. “Yes, I heard about that, too. Is that…I don’t suppose that’s the reason that I’m being moved, is it?”

“One of them, Doctor.”

Director Fury’s voice came from behind them, and there really was no way to tell how long he’d been standing there monitoring their conversation. Probably only a little while; the Director was good, but Clint thought privately he was probably a bit better.

They both turned to face him.

Fury strode toward them in that even, meandering way of his, boots heavy on the ground and long black coat swishing. With that typical not-quite-a-scowl etched on his face, he turned his head slowly so he could look at them both out of his one good eye.

“I assume your trip went well,” he greeted Selvig, and without waiting for response swiveled on Clint. “Agent Barton.”

“Director.”

“Filling our friend here in on the situation?”

“A bit, sir,” Clint replied. “I figure you can do the rest.”

Fury’s mouth twitched in a silent chuckle. “Well isn’t that damn generous of you.” Still he faced Selvig again without pause. “In answer to your question, Dr. Selvig, Loki’s returning presence to Earth is part of the reason we wanted to relocate you. We’re trying to keep everyone he might have reason to come after in one place, in order to best manage our security and…”

“Keep an _eye_ on things?” Selvig joked, sensing the easy punch-line.

Fury fell silent and turned his head askance, giving the scientist a look. Selvig stopped chuckling, his smile quickly banished.

Clint fought the urge to shake his head. That joke was only allowed to be funny if the Director himself was making it.

“Carrying on,” Fury went sternly, after it was clear he’d successfully stymied the other man. “The other reason we’ve asked you to come in is we could actually use your expertise on something.”

Selvig managed to find his voice again. “And what is that?”

Reaching inside his coat Fury pulled out a flash drive and handed it to him. “This is data we’ve collected from a couple installations we have a working partnership with. Over the past few days there have been several anomalies.”

“What kind of anomalies?” Selvig’s tone was all business and interest, now.

Fury pulled out something else: a computer printout. “You tell me.”

Selvig took it, producing a pair of glasses and scanning the information. “Good _lord_ ,” he exclaimed after a few seconds, looking at Fury with alarm, mouth slightly agape. “Can this be _right?_ It almost looks as if…”

“As if what?” Clint asked, begrudgingly interested.

Selvig made a few vague hand gestures. “I can’t say just from this, but these kind of spikes – it could be the precursor to some kind of cosmic event.”

“Like what happened with the Tesseract?” Fury questioned sharply.

“Yes – well, no.” Selvig looked at the readings again, rubbing his forehead. “Something very similar, but not exactly the same _type_. What happened with the Tesseract was purposeful, directed. These energies…they’re all over the place.” Holding the printout with one hand he waved the other one at it.

“I need time to study these, and much more information. But this kind of random pattern; it almost seems like it’s naturally occurring. Like the fabric of our universe is becoming unstable somehow.” He looked back up them. “But how could that be possible?”

There was a pause, during which Fury pointedly didn’t answer.

“You’ll have all the data you need, once you get to Stark’s tower,” he said instead. “And I expect you’ll have his help as well as Doctors Banner and Foster’s in unraveling it.” He looked at Clint. “Fill him in on the way.”

“Yes sir.”

It wasn’t a long flight but Clint proceeded to do so to the best of his ability. He told Selvig about Selene, about the multiple realities. Everything they knew so far.

Selvig seemed torn somewhere between fascinated and terrified.

Clint couldn’t say he necessarily blamed him. And it was his job to have to somehow deal with this kind of thing.

They reached the Tower without incident. Selvig was handed off to Stark’s security men, who intended to show him his rooms, the lab, and then take him to reunite with Dr. Foster and Ms. Lewis.

Clint and Selvig parted easily, without either of them saying goodbye to one another.

Once that was off his hands Clint started to wander off on his own, idly. But he didn’t get far before Stark’s head of security – who he belatedly realized hadn’t left with the others – called after him.

“Hey.” He reached out like he was intending to tap Clint on the shoulder – Clint gave him a cool look indicating that was not a good idea. The bigger man froze.

“Hogan, right?” Clint asked. “What is it?”

Hogan cleared his throat and drew himself up, going to great lengths to hide the fact he’d ever been discomfited. “The boss and the others want to see you.” He jerked his head. “Avengers business.”

“What _kind_ of Avengers business?”

The security grimaced like he had a bad taste in his mouth. “Something weird.”

It seemed like an underwhelming way of putting it. But when Clint reached the floor he’d been told he discovered that the description was in fact an accurate one.

He gazed at the company of what had to be two dozen men in what he assumed was full Asgardian regalia lining the long hallway, standing at attention.

A few employees walked their way around, having to weave past the large armored men and eyeing them with nervous confusion. None of the guards looked back, or so much as even blinked.

At one end of the hall, Captain Rogers, Stark and Thor were clustered together, eyeing the soldiers. Clint went over to them.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, completely casual as he pointed with his thumb.

“Um, our babysitters, apparently.” Stark spread both hands, looking bemused and annoyed. “They’re under orders from Asgard to sit on top of us until Selene makes her way here to kill us all.”

“At which point, they’re supposed to be able to help,” Rogers added, with a wry note of humor.

“Naturally.” Clint looked at Thor. “Your father that worried about our ability to handle things ourselves?”

Thor gave a look of distaste. “My father did not send them.”

“Oh no?”

“Nope. _He_ did.” Stark indicated Thor, rolling his eyes. “Or rather, his alternate kingly self did. No offense Thor, but I think a shiny gold crown has clearly made you even more pompous.”

Thor only scowled, though whether his displeasure was for Stark’s words or the situation, it couldn’t be told.

Clint looked at the Asgardians again more sharply. That made this a whole different ballgame.

“They came from the _other_ Asgard?” He turned back to his teammates. “They’re from the other dimension? _How?_ ”

“I guess it’s possible.” Rogers shook his head. “They weren’t offering up many details, though. Apparently they’re under orders, and being friendly isn’t one of them.”

Clint looked at Thor. “Well can’t you just…” He trailed off as Thor’s expression grew sour and Stark began laughing snidely. “What?”

“They were sent here by King Thor of Asgard.” Stark pointed. “Which he is _not_. They won’t listen to him, any more than they will they rest of us. Isn’t it great?”

“Oh you have got to be kidding me,” Clint muttered in indignation as the full reality sank in. “So this other guy sent a platoon of his soldiers to loom over us and get underfoot, and there’s nothing we can do about it?”

“Not unless we want to take them on.” Stark twitched. “Which…not impossible, but. Well. Be my guest.”

“Starting a fight with the men sent to be our protectors would cause unnecessary trouble.” Thor sounded downright grumpy about it, though. “Hopefully they will remain to their duties and stay out of our way.”

Rogers shrugged. “I know it’s kind of a pain, but they might actually end up being helpful,” he admitted. “What if Selene does get here?”

Clint cast a final look at the stern and blank-faced warriors. They were probably all incredibly strong, trained for eons to fight by some of the best their warrior culture had to offer. And no doubt they’d follow their orders when the time came.

But he wasn’t impressed.

“Then they can be cannon fodder,” he summarized the situation, bluntly.

*

The Hulk was _mad_.

Well, the Hulk was pretty much always mad – that was the point of his existence, after all. Every raw impulse, every bit of manic energy and frustration that had been swallowed back, suppressed: bubbling up at once in a massive surge, directed to tear apart any convenient target. If the Hulk wasn’t angry, then he was either confused, wary, or asleep.

But at that moment he happened to be _especially_ angry.

The sounds of explosions and gunfire ricocheted from every direction. The area around had been transformed into rubble. There were uniformed bodies strewn about – none of them were the Hulk’s work.

He paid none of it any mind. Loping through the debris on all fours, he snorted, sniffing the air.

He would find the little strong men. The little strong men that fought alongside Hulk. They were Hulk’s friends.

They could help him. Hulk would protect them. Things were easier when they all were together.

Catching a scent he lifted his head and roared, but there was no answering call. He climbed up one pile of rubble then jumped down the other side, rushing towards the source of the sounds and smells.

Everything the Hulk experienced was always _loud bright pain fear rage fight destroy destroy destroy._ His worldview was slanted, condensed to primal thoughts and simple sensations.

But what he came upon when finally he reached his destination, it was especially chaotic. And raw.

His little friends were scattered around a source of loud noise and bright flashing lights. There were other people too, running the other way, trying to get away from what was happening.

They wore clothes like the men that used to chase Hulk, so very long ago. But they didn’t pay him any mind now. They ran right past him. Hulk could smell the terror on them as they fled.

They were leaving it to Hulk and his friends, maybe, hoping they could fight whatever it was alone.

But Hulk’s friends didn’t seem to be doing too well.

The armor man was away from the center, his outside damaged and sparking, panting and cursing to himself. Hulk bounded over, making a concerned sound, leaning over him. The armor man waved at Hulk, trying to send him away. He spoke in a breathless flurry, some of which were words Hulk understood.

_“…fine…need you more…go…help!”_

The Hulk turned his head, looking where the armor man pointed. The arrow man had been hurt badly, unable to keep his head upright, and the blue shield man was trying to help him walk away. He had one of the arrow man’s arms thrown over his shoulders and they were limping along together. Halfway between where Hulk was and the bright light sharp noise was the liar woman, lying on her stomach between a pile of rocks on the ground.

The liar woman wasn’t moving. Her limbs and arms were spread out around her and her head was turned to one side. There was a red, deeper and stickier than the color of her hair, that covered part of her face.

The Hulk became enraged and he reared up, lifting his arms as he bellowed out a guttural cry.

The liar woman made him angry sometimes but she was his _friend!_ No one hurt Hulk’s friends.

Teeth bared and growling, fists raised, he stomped towards the source of all this chaos.

He could make it out past the lights and the noise now. Two people were fighting, hitting each other again and again. One of them was Hulk’s last friend, the hammer man.

The other, grinning and grisly and holding a long golden stick, was the puny god.

Hulk snarled. Then he roared again. He _hated_ the puny god! He always hurt Hulk, and did bad things, and went after Hulk’s little friends.

Just the sight of him made the anger greater, filling him with rage, which turned into strength. He ran across the street, tearing up the concrete with the force of his steps. He bounded at the puny god, arms out, ready to grab him.

The puny god saw him coming. He pointed his stick at the Hulk, and a big splash of green fire shot out.

The fire pushed Hulk. It stung. He was thrown aside, colliding with a building, knocking it down. He took only a moment to recover, and then began furiously digging himself out.

He could hear the hammer man still fighting. He and the puny god were yelling at each other. Hulk followed the sounds, hands moving fast, raking up the bricks and twisted metal, frothing in his eagerness to get out and throw himself in for another attack.

Back on the ground he started to head into the battle again. But he paused, sniffing, a strange scent having caught his attention. He turned around.

Behind him there was standing a little ghost-looking woman, dressed all in black. She was striding her way towards where the puny god and the hammer man still were.

The Hulk growled at her and moved to grab her. He didn’t like the way she looked. He didn’t like the way she smelled. Hulk usually assumed everyone that was strange or caught his attention was an enemy.

As his big green fingers reached toward her head the all-in-black-woman turned his way sharply and looked at him. He towered over her, as he did most other living things.

But she didn’t smell of fear. Not one drop.

She lifted her own hand and pointed it at the Hulk, palm flat. Her voice came at him distorted.

_“Get out of my way…beast!”_

Another blast. But this one was black, and cold. It wriggled over him like especially thick water. And it did more than knock Hulk aside.

It _hurt._ Pain so great instead of provoking the anger, it suffocated it. Pain that leeched everything else out, overwhelming him, leaving nothing.

The Hulk whimpered. Feeling confused and alone and weak, and the _green roar chase smash fight angry angry angry_ disappeared, and he…

Bruce Banner woke up naked in a pile of rubble, skin stinging, blinking as he tried to make heads or tails of what was going on.

He groaned, took a breath, and pressed both hands over his eyes as he waited for his senses to clear. Last thing he knew they were fighting Loki. From the fragments he could remember, it wasn’t going so well for them. Looking around, it didn’t seem to be going well for anyone else either, especially the neighborhood.

“What do you want, stranger?”

Thor’s voice in a booming demand caught his attention, and he jerked his head up, even though his neck instantly made him regret it.

Thor and Loki were still standing near each other, in the middle of facing off. But there was a woman marching towards them, one who was dressed strangely and that Bruce didn’t recognize. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but even just from looking , something about her seemed…off.

Thor clearly didn’t seem to like her either. He was waving Mjolnir in her face, threatening her.

“I know not who you think you are, woman! This fight is between my brother and I!”

“Stand aside,” she said at Thor, flatly. “Or face me.”

“ _Gladly,_ ” Thor shouted, and he flew at her with a vicious look.

Bruce winced instinctively, and half-ducked behind the nearest rock, resting a hand on it for support. He expected to watch a beat-down. He might not have known this new arrival’s full capabilities, or what she wanted. But he did know Thor. And the list of people he couldn’t pulverize when he put his mind to it was pretty short.

The woman slid aside, letting Thor fly past her. When he landed, momentarily flustered and angered, she snatched onto the very edge of his red cape and started dragging him back.

Bruce didn’t know what he was seeing. What was she _doing?_ He couldn’t think of a reason she would _want_ for Thor to get that close.

He was completely unprepared for the horrible thing that came next.

The woman gripped onto Thor’s face between both her hands, temporarily trapping him, and then leaned in like she was going to kiss him. Her mouth opened and an awful inhuman sound started to come from the back of her throat.

Bruce felt an instinctive chill of panic even before the reality set in. Something was wrong. But he was too tired and injured to summon the Other Guy, so there was nothing he could do, but stay helplessly where he was and watch.

A golden light began to come off Thor’s body. It was sucked inside the woman’s mouth past her fangs. As he struggled frantically, Thor began to change – his face became older, withered. His body shrank. He started to disappear.

Mjolnir fell from his hand and landed with a heavy sound in the dirt, handle upright.

“Oh god, no,” Bruce whispered aloud, eyes wide. “This can’t be happening.”

Thor’s scream of pain was inaudible as everything happened in seconds. The sight was too awful to look away from, until at last there was nothing more to see.

Thor was gone. He had vanished – he had ceased to exist. He had been…swallowed.

There was nothing left but a few wisps and tatters of his armor. Dust that was easily buffeted about by the wind.

The color had drained from Loki’s face. He took what seemed an involuntary step forward, one hand reaching out to touch nothing.

“Thor?” His voice was oddly timid, stilled with shock and denial. “…Brother?”

It seemed, Bruce thought numbly to himself, it was one thing to hate your sibling and want to kill him. It was another thing entirely to watch him die. For him to actually be gone.

Gone. The words seemed impossible: _Thor is gone._

An uneasiness overtaking him Bruce refocused his gaze on the woman that was still left standing. She had her eyes closed, her head lifted back, her arms raised up. She looked like she was concentrating.

Slowly she opened her eyes, a look of exhilarated triumph filled her face. “ _Ah,”_ she gave a sharp sound of deepest relief, as if she felt invigorated.

Maybe she did. Something had changed about her, in a way Bruce struggled to describe. And he knew he would have to describe it, later. When people came to him, asking what happened. When they were trying to make sense of it all. Supposing, of course, Bruce even got out alive.

With the way things were going he didn’t think he could assume that.

The woman was giving off an unearthly impression, a feeling of strength that was transmitted just by looking at her. Nothing about her had changed physically but she seemed bigger, larger than life. There was a faint golden glow coming off of her skin – the same glow she had absorbed from Thor, Bruce realized.

It looked incredibly _wrong_ on her.

She turned to face Loki, and Bruce caught a glimpse of her eyes on the way – they were the most terrible eyes he had ever seen. Burning with madness and malice and unholy strength. She stood poised over Loki like she was already enjoyed her victory.

She held out one hand, palm spread, fingers half-curled. And with a spark of lighting, Mjolnir flew from the ground and landed in her waiting grasp.

There was an ominous rumble of thunder. It seemed to come from right where the woman was standing.

Loki shrank back, cowering, as her shadow fell over him. As she lifted the hammer, two-handed, high over her head, ready to swing it down with full force and all of her stolen godly strength.

And as Bruce watched from his hiding space, unable to feel anything, unable to look away, Loki dropped to his knees – seeming to realize he was already a dead man.

*

It was official. Darcy had had all that she could take.

Loki – bad Loki, evil Loki, _asshole_ Loki – was making it incredibly obvious he was up to something. He wasn’t even trying to hide it from her.

All that time they’d been forced to spend together, with her trying to show him how he ought to behave. But apparently he hadn’t learned at all. Not about her, anyway.

Because if he really thought Darcy was going to sit back and do nothing, then he didn’t know a thing about her.

Running and telling Thor would have been the easy play. It would’ve also turned into a scene, and if Loki didn’t end up getting away, he could’ve still ended up hurting somebody. That wasn’t happening. She had a better idea.

First, she waited. Until after the Bifrost had been successfully altered so it could send people to other realms. And after the other Loki had already left Asgard for Earth.

It wasn’t that she was worried about what he might do there. But she had faith in _her_ Loki, and in the people he’d chosen as his friends. They would doubtless be able to tell if something was up. And they could take care of themselves. Especially if Loki made the mistake of underestimating them.

She had a feeling he probably would. Well, his loss.

Once the coast was clear Darcy went to her room, sat down and wrote two letters. One was for Heimdall. The other was for Thor.

Both of them explained the truth about what had been going on the past few months, as brief but as thorough as she could. They both also asked a few significant favors of both men, but ones she had faith she was going to see granted. It didn’t do her any good to imagine she’d fail.

Those weren’t the only messages she had to send. But the others she was going to leave to be relayed verbally, by someone she trusted. She already knew who.

After all that was done, Darcy got up, hesitated with a contemplative air, and then she went over to the closet where she kept most of her jewels.

The second princess of Asgard, as it turned out, had what was said to be the best collection of jewels in the entire realm. They were gossiped about in a kind of awe, because her gems even surpassed those belonging to the queen.

That was pretty impressive, because the queen of Asgard had a lot of jewels herself. Not that Jane was the kind of girl who really cared about diamonds or rubies or emeralds, but it was a part of her social status. When you were married to royalty, people flung precious stones at you. There were the best treasures of Asgard’s coffers, which had been inherited and passed down to her as gifts, bestowed upon her lovingly by her husband. And then there were the many, many presents given to her by visiting diplomats trying to impress or seek favors.

But even though Jane’s jewelry was pretty awesome, Darcy still had the better pieces, and Darcy definitely had more. And that was because Darcy was married to Loki, who absolutely loved stealing shit from other people.

Outsmarting people was one of Loki’s favorite pastimes; setting up rigged wagers his opponents couldn’t win, defeating those he thought in need of being taken down a peg through sheer trickery. But it wasn’t enough to _beat_ someone. No, the humiliation had to be completed by taking something of value from them as well.

Loki rarely had any desire for the prizes he won. For him the pleasure came in the taking, the sweet knowledge that he’d stolen something another wanted through his guile.

So he showered his family members with presents, since he wanted none of his ill-gotten loot for himself, and what better way to show it off than by giving it to another? His children he gifted with lands and titles. His mother he presented with all sorts of trinkets. And his wife he gave a literal fortune in jewels.

Darcy never asked for any of it, and she thought all of it was a bit much. But she had to admit, sometimes she liked sitting around, looking at all the painstakingly handcrafted pieces, the huge stones that were set into them, worth more than probably the national debt of entire countries, and feeling smug about how they were all hers. Plus, there were some days she just really wanted to feel pretty.

Really, really, aristocratically, jaw-droppingly gorgeous pretty.

Whenever Loki gave her a new present he’d tell her the story of where it came from, how he had won it, enjoying the chance to brag. Darcy would roll her eyes a little, but she’d listen dutifully. And she would take mental notes.

So every once in a while when a noble lord or a foreign ruler who’d lost to Loki’s trickery came to visit Asgard, he might sit down to dinner only to find the gems he’d had stolen winking at him from the neck of Loki’s wife. And he would have no choice but to sit in silence, stewing furiously the whole evening.

Loki would always be _very_ appreciative with Darcy that night, because he’d been reminded the two of them were, in certain ways, perfectly matched.

But after considering her options, Darcy decided that what was called for in this situation was the most impressive thing that she owned. And that wasn’t anything that Loki had given her.

Her best jewels had been given to her as a wedding gift, after she’d married into the royal house of Asgard. From the dwarves, actually – the one group of people that liked showing off what they could do maybe as much as Loki.

Loki hated the dwarves. It was a fair guess they’d made his new wife such a present just to rub his face in it. But he knew better than to ask Darcy to give up the necklace. It was huge, ornate, impractical, and possibly the most badass necklace ever made.

Darcy started calling it by the same name that was supposed to belong to a beautiful necklace of Norse legend. Because it was just that awesome.

Her mind made up, Darcy seated herself in front of her vanity. And then she rang for Siún.

Her handmaiden, friend and confidante came quickly, and didn’t seem surprised that Darcy wanted to speak to her alone.

“What is it, my lady?”

Darcy looked at her, serious.

“Something is happening, Siún. I’ll try to explain it to you the best that I can. But right now I’m about to do something really important about it, and I’m going to need your help.”

Siún only took a moment. “All right. What do you need me to do?”

“Eventually I’m going to have you run some messages for me. One will be going to Heimdall, very soon. The others are for my kids and for Thor, after I leave.”

“After you leave?”

“Yeah.” Sitting straight up, Darcy lifted her chin with determination. “I’m going to go on a journey. And it’s absolutely crucial I look beyond amazing when I get there.”

Siún smiled ever so slightly, in a knowing, but likewise determined way. “I see. What do you want me to start with?”

“I need everything done. Hair, nails, clothes; the works. But first…” Darcy turned around to face her.

“Get me Brísingamen.”

*

Odin the All-Father stood alone on a stone balcony, overlooking what had once been his kingdom.

 As always, the palace and city gleamed in the sunlight. It was said a man could live here for a lifetime and never cease to look on her with a sense of wonder.

Asgard’s spires and roadways for him had never lost their luster. This was his home, the land that had always been his. Though troubled times in the past on occasion made it hard to look at her without a sense of foreboding, he never ceased to love her. To do everything he could to serve her.

He had fought wars and wrestled treaties and launched explorations in the sake of this empire. But after all he had done, he felt no regret at leaving it behind. Giving up the power.

He was king no longer, and with the throne went the responsibility. After the ages of bearing that mantle upon his shoulders, he had been glad to pass it on to a younger man, with the right mix of heart and courage to continue carrying the legacy of the Realm Eternal on.

Thor had proven to be the good king his father had always known that he could. These past few years he had ruled, and he had done nothing to disappoint.

And the few times when Thor had threatened to be too-shorted, too proud, Loki was there to make up the deficit with his cunning.

When he had imagined that either of his sons could one day lead, knowing that they both had the blood of kings in their veins, Odin had not perhaps considered between them they could make up one ruler. But it served, and it did his soul good to see it. Thor held the reins of authority in his grasp and Loki did the necessary legwork to keep up all the parts of the base. Despite their differences they were stronger united than they ever would’ve been apart.

His boys were grown now. They had new lives, new duties, their own families. They were happy and, in spite of the odds, they had remained together.

Just like the rest of Asgard, they didn’t need him anymore.

But the battle with Selene was coming hard upon them. The sorceress would be here soon – he could sense it. And whether or not his children realized it, he would be needed for that.

Drawing in a breath the old man looked further upward, past the spiraling towers, past even the sky. Towards things that even now only he, with his gifts and experience in magic, could see.

Their world was out of balance. He could feel Yggdrasil vibrating, threatening to fray at the edges as it struggled to contain all the extra energy that Selene’s mad campaign had unleashed. If it was not stopped soon the consequences could be disastrous. The walls between the realms would thin, threatening to bleed into one another.

He sensed these things. Just as he could begin to sense the whispers of the other lives Selene had touched as she grew ever closer.

Just as he sensed her dark spirit, her corrupt energy, as clear and familiar as the time he had fought her last for himself, and failed.

Leaning the weight of his hands against cool stone Odin closed his one eye. Letting the wind pull at his hair and beard, trying to soothe his aged brow.

Thor thought that Selene could be fought like any other foe, head-on and with a showing of strength.

Loki believed Selene was his particular challenge, that he had to ultimately face and defeat her alone.

But they were both wrong.

Legacy, after all, was not only about the blessings a man left behind, his achievements. It was his shortcomings too. His mistakes.

And soon it would be time to close out this final chapter at last.

Turning from the outside view Odin began to walk in, only to see that his wife had come looking for him. She stood by the door waiting, and when she saw that he was done with his introspection she came towards him, a gentle smile on her face.

“I did not want to interrupt you, my lord,” she said, reaching out a hand which he gladly took. Odin sighed as he rubbed her palm, even as she caressed his cheek.

Such a life they had had together, the two of them. And by now they could communicate the meaning of it all in a single, shared fond look.

Indeed Frigga’s smile warmed in a sentimental way as she saw the softness to her husband’s one-eyed gaze.

“What were you thinking of?”

“Nothing,” he told her. “Merely…old thoughts. Things that do not matter anymore. Or at least, will not matter for much longer.” Before she could press for further explanation he continued, “Do you remember the first time we laid eyes on each other? At the tournament?”

“Oh, by the Nine.” She laughed quietly, that they could cast their thoughts so far back. “Yes. How could I ever forget?”

He took up her hand and kissed the back of it, just as he had then.

“I have always thought you as beautiful as you were to me in that moment, throughout the years,” he promised her. She smiled her loving gratitude at him, lowering her gaze. “And you?” he had to ask somberly. “Have you always cared for me as much as you did in the beginning? Were you still able to hold me the same in your heart, even when I was a hard and foolish man? Even when I did wrong by your sons?”

“They are your sons too, husband,” Frigga reminded him simply. “And as to if I have always loved you as much as that first day – no. As the time has passed, I have only grown to love you more and more.”

She moved to embrace him, lightly, as he held her.

“You are melancholy,” she observed.

“Perhaps,” he replied. “But I am old man, and haunted by many ghosts. Come, my love.” Pulling away he maintained a grip on her hand so he could guide her with him. “Let us sit inside, and tell stories of our long faded youth to make me laugh. I feel as if I have not laughed in too long a while.”

She nodded her assent, happily, and they walked in together companionably. Holding hands as if they were naught more but young lovers again.

*

Natasha was standing in front of an elevator in Avengers Tower, still in her gear from a recent mission for SHIELD, thinking her day couldn’t possibly get any more annoying, or strange.

Really, by now, she should really know better than to allow herself thoughts like that.

It was as good as demanding that lightning strike her down.

She sensed it before she saw or heard anything – a sort of fluctuation in the air pressure around here, that she had come to associate with events like the appearance of the Chitauri. She wasn’t sure if she was sensing ‘magic’ itself, exactly, or something else.

But she knew what usually came next. And it was never good.

She turned around, reaching for her gun. The elevator door slid open – never mind that she hadn’t pressed the button, and she was sure it hadn’t gone anywhere yet.

“Natasha,” Loki said to her.

He was so incredibly lucky that even with the hair-trigger her reflexes were on, her self-control was ever so slightly better.

“Loki?” she demanded, incredulous. “What in the hell are you doing here?”

With a wary glance toward the ceiling and Stark’s ever-present if virtually undetectable security cameras, she shoved him backward into the elevator and then joined him, slamming her fist on the ‘close door’ button.

“I got your message,” he explained.

“The gist of which was that you should _stay as far away_ from the team right now as remotely possible. Did you not read that?”

She had no idea how he could possibly sound so calm. Was he intoxicated? Had he taken what happened between them harder than she thought and he was stalking her now? Because that was absolutely not what she needed.

Ever since their rendezvous they had kept up brief, vague communication. She could’ve sworn everything with him was going okay.

Maybe she had somehow made a huge mistake, and completely underestimated his mental instability.

“I understood your intent, yes. But I don’t care,” Loki insisted. “You said that there was captured data about the flux between our dimensions. I want to see it.”

She stared at him. “I _can’t_ get that to you. I don’t even have access. I could walk into the lab, sure, but if I tried to leave with a copy there would be too many questions about what I needed it for.”

“Then I’ll retrieve it myself. All I need is a moment-”

“Absolutely not.” Her voice was beyond firm.

“That information could be used to trace Selene’s current movements. Maybe even her whereabouts,” he pressed. “I _need_ it. If there’s a chance I could find out where she is, now…”

“Loki, things are getting out of control,” she cut into his intense diatribe. “Not only is the entire team here, but with those soldiers from Asgard, all it takes is one small step for you to be in danger.” She shook her head, anger showing as strongly on her countenance as concern. “Why are you doing this? What happened to the plan?”

He took a step back, frowning. “What do you mean?”

Despite the presence of his typical medium-range armor, he seemed so mild-mannered to her somehow. It was just the way he carried himself and spoke to her, compared to the other. Even when he was being serious, or commanding, after what she had seen of him it was hard for her to view him as a direct threat.

But what went for her wouldn’t be remotely true for the others, she knew. They only saw the one Loki, and she didn’t know if they would even believe her if she tried to explain.

If, weighing the options, it would be entirely wise for her to come to Loki’s aid and defend him.

“The plan,” Natasha reminded him, slow, “where you told me you didn’t want to come into further contact with the Avengers. Where you were going to go out of your way to lay low.”

“I have been doing that,” Loki protested. “This is the first time I – I don’t intend to let anyone _see_ me!” He looked annoyed. “Have you no faith in my ability at subterfuge?”

She crossed her arms. “And that little heart-to-heart with Thor the other day? What was that?”

He started, seeming both surprised and guilty. Had it really not occurred to him that she would have found out?

But of course Thor had told them. Even if he hadn’t essentially _had_ to since Loki was their collective enemy, it had seemed clear at the time that Thor wanted to talk.

He didn’t give them a word-for-word recitation, but the conversation had left him with mixed feelings he had wanted someone to listen to, if nothing else. Even if the rest of the team was at a loss for any advice they could offer, at least they could give him that.

“That…was something I had to do,” Loki said, falteringly.

“No it wasn’t. You went out of your way to try and meddle in your other self’s life. Acting on his behalf, trying to give him what you think he’s wanting. Do you really think that’s going to accomplish anything?”

“You don’t understand,” Loki snapped at her, heated. He had all but cringed under the truth of her accusations but had abruptly switched to the defensive instead. “I had to reach out to him! If there was any chance I could make a difference, it needed to be done!”

She frowned, but her gaze softened, both troubled and sympathetic.

“What changed?”

He stopped speaking for a second, trying to compose himself. Drawing a breath he covered his eyes.

“Ever since what…happened between you and I, I’ve felt different,” he said shortly, dropping his hand. “Disconnected. Ill, almost. As if something was affecting my magic.”

He wavered for a moment but then drew himself up, confident, poised like a soldier ready to charge into battle for a worthy cause. A champion of determination.

“And I’ve come to the conclusion it’s because my spirit can no longer abide being so molded to this body, trying to match it in ways that are false. I must be _myself_ , for my sanity and to not risk doing my psyche any further damage.”

“You’re in a different reality, in the wrong body,” she argued. “Even without knowing anything on the subject, I can imagine there must be other things that could cause whatever you’re feeling.”

“No,” Loki said stubbornly. “It’s this. It must be. I knew trying to live in his manner was making me miserable, but this is too much. I can take it no more.”

Natasha set her jaw in frustration.

“You’re being overly complicated. If you really think it’s too much, then go back. Or reveal yourself to the whole team. Trying to pull strings while still pretending to be our Loki is going to backfire.”

Loki only scowled at her. She could see from his expression he was wasting her breath; he had committed himself to this plan from the get-go, and changing it now would be admitting he had made a mistake.

And heaven forbid he had to do that. There were some things, she realized, that all Lokis evidently did have in common.

Giving in to her sense of futility, she decided to try and change the subject. “Why cheer on him and Dr. Foster?” She shook her head, genuinely confused by that. “I wasn’t aware that you were her fan.”

Loki stilled. His gaze grew more abstract as he was drawn away by less-than-present thoughts.

“I enjoy having Jane Foster as my sister-in-law,” he told her, flatly. He hesitated before deciding it was best not to explain. “She is a noteworthy woman. And she has a good effect on my brother.”

He shrugged.

“If that relationship and its bearing can be replicated here, then why not? I do not assert to speak for the future, nor the good of all men, but far more good than harm would come of it.”

“If you say so,” Natasha remarked, mildly amused. She didn’t think he would have that much of an opinion about Thor’s love life.

Then again, Loki was a schemer. Maybe even when he was a force for good, he couldn’t help but meddle. It was second nature.

Whatever calm moment they had achieved however was ruined by Loki going in his next breath, “And now I really must insist that I be allowed to see that energy data.”

“Loki – no!” Natasha said ardently. “Look, I promised I would help you. I meant that. But in this case there’s just no way.”

“Don’t you understand? If I can strike first, if I can find my chance to face her before she even comes anywhere near my family-”

“I know everything that you’re doing this for. And I know you think that it has to be this way,” she countered, words even but heavy. “But you’re letting your emotions and even your pride get the best of you. If you were thinking clearly you’d realize this doesn’t make any sense.”

His face darkened. “I have the greatest respect for you, Natasha, but you could never understand what’s at stake for me in this. How _dare_ you.”

She was spared having to come up with a careful response to that by her earpiece crackling to life.

_“Nat?”_

She shot Loki a meaningful look, putting a finger to her ear. “Clint? I hear you.”

 _“We’re outside the elevator. We’ve got it surrounded,”_ he told her, hushed and hurried. _“Loki’s in there, right? Don’t worry. The doors will be open soon. Stark’s got it covered.”_

Natasha mouthed swearwords to herself in Russian, dropping her hand as she met Loki’s eyes.

“What?”

“It seems our whole argument is moot,” she told him with a weary edge. “The others figured out you’re here, somehow.” She indicated the elevator door. “They’re right outside and ready for a fight.”

His proud and angry countenance dropped. “This isn’t what I wanted,” he told her, and she could tell it was his way of offering an apology.

“I know.”

“I won’t make you get between me and your comrades. Keep up the charade, for now. I’ll find some way to escape.” He paused. “Or let them capture me, if it comes to that.”

“I hope that it doesn’t. They might want to send you back to Asgard, and that would cause a whole other mess.”

The doors dinged to her right side. Quickly, in the seconds before they opened, she muttered at him, “Sorry about this.”

And then just as the doors began sliding open, she fired up the bites on her gauntlet and punched him in the sternum as hard as she could.

A little electricity was really nothing, between the armor and an Asgardian constitution. But still he made a pained grunt of surprise, and fell back at first. Natasha crouched downward, rolling herself back out of his way, as he curled his fingers and lunged at her.

Loki stumbled out into the hall and found himself standing directly in a half-circle of Avengers.

Clint had an arrow pointed, Captain Rogers had his shield up, Thor had his hammer raised and Stark had his suit.

Banner wasn’t there. Apparently when the arrival of the Asgardian soldiers had caused him to go “to hell with this” and retreat to his lab, he must’ve turned up the music _extra_ loud.

“Hi there,” Stark said, faux-chipper. “Is this your floor?”

Loki didn’t bother trying for a response. He merely glared, and summoned a staff to his hand, though not the rest of his armor. ‘Easy does it’ seemed to be his secret motto.

The team, however, was hardly on board. As Natasha watched, Clint fired an arrow right at his throat. Loki swatted it away with his staff, causing Rogers to have to defect it.

“Careful,” the Captain warned. “We’re in close quarters here and there are probably civilians on the nearby floors.”

“Then let’s take it outside.” Stark’s voice changed as his visor flipped down and he fired up the repulsors in his gloves. _“C’mon, we’ll herd him. Hey Bessie – aw, man. That joke doesn’t work when he’s not wearing the horns,”_ he complained.

“Did you just call me a cow?” Loki demanded, sounding genuinely affronted. And then for some reason, he shot an accusing look at Thor.

Whatever the story was there, Thor didn’t respond to it. “What of the things you spoke to me, and the deal you offered?” he demanded. “I see now that was yet more empty words!”

Loki scowled at him, aggravated. “That deal is not in play yet!” He glanced back and forth, at the Avengers closing in on him. “Oh, never _mind._ ”

Two blasts from the staff. The first sent Rogers rolling out of the way. The second had Clint diving for cover to join Natasha in the elevator.

She was still on her back, watching from that vantage point. Clint landed practically on top of her, supporting his upper body with his hands.

“Hey.” He looked down at her, voice quiet as he quickly met her eyes. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Smoothly she wrapped her legs around his torso, locking him firmly in place. He wasn’t going anywhere, unless he really wanted to fight her for the privilege.

Clint’s eyes widened at her action, confused and alarmed. “What are you-?”

“Stay down. Trust me,” she ordered him. “He’s going to clear himself a path with a minimum on the carnage, and then he’s going to leave.”

Being a double agent was one thing – but playing the game of ‘real allegiances’ could get downright exhausting.

He opened his mouth and then shut it, forehead wrinkling. She answered the question he hadn’t asked.

“I’ll explain later.”

The fight continued out in the hall. After scattering two of the other men, Loki ended up grappling with Thor. Managing to dodge a blow from the hammer, he caught his brother’s ankle and flipped him, sending him down for a split second. It was all the time that Loki needed to leap up like a panther and latch on to Stark.

 _“Ow, hey!”_ Stark lifted off the floor and tried moving around to shake him. Loki had a hand splayed over his reactor, fingers curling as if he was trying to pry something apart. _“You know, I’m getting really sick of you using your fascination with shiny objects as an excuse to grope me – okay, get off!”_

The last three words were a shout as Stark shot him with a beam from his chest-plate, hurling Loki into the wall. Hard enough to knock him through it, as it turned out.

_“Aw, dammit.”_

“After him,” Rogers called, hustling to his feet. “We can’t let him get far!”

Privately, Natasha was hoping Loki had already taken advantage of the situation to run.

*

Jane was, surprise surprise, in security lockdown.

The instant word had gone out that Loki was in the building again, a security man had come and found her and Darcy and hustled them into the nearest area that could be deemed ‘secure’.

That place turned out to be an office that Pepper Potts used when she was staying at the Tower, which was…unexpected at best. And a little awkward.

More than a little.

The businesswoman stood up as Darcy and Jane were all but shoved inside her door. She took instant stock of the situation and glanced past them to the man escorting them.

“Happy?” Somehow that single question – and his name, oh right - spoke volumes.

“It’s the guy with the horns again,” he muttered, exhaling. The stocky man pointed over his shoulder, all business. “I’m gonna go make sure everything else is secure.”

Ms. Potts nodded. “You do that.” After he left she looked towards the ceiling. “JARVIS…”

 _“Activating security panels.”_ The lights dimmed slightly and there was an odd metallic sound from every direction. _“I will inform you of Mr. Stark’s location as soon as I have a fix on him.”_

“Thank you.” Turning to the two bewildered people she had as her unwitting guests, the red-haired woman gave them her best shot at a reassuring smile. “We’ve just been encased in three layers of titanium alloy. It won’t open until there’s an all-clear from JARVIS. Tony is…very protective, when it comes to my personal safety.”

Darcy snorted, straightening her glasses which had been knocked askew in their rapid pace. “Cool beans. Guess that’s one benefit to having an eccentric billionaire inventor as your squeeze.” She paused, and gave Jane a meaningful look. “You two should share tips,” she said, incredibly pointed.

Jane ignored her. Searching the office she saw nothing but a desk with a computer, plants, art, books, and some other furniture. The windows had all been sealed shut.

“We can breathe in here, right?” she asked Ms. Potts, wary.

“Oh yes. There are vents.”

“Great!” Darcy had pulled out her phone, shaking it with a frown. “Is there cable? Because I’m not getting any reception now, and I’m gonna be _so_ pissed if we’re locked up in here for hours and I can’t even play Angry Birds.”

“I could never get into Angry Birds,” Ms. Potts remarked. “Have you tried Words With Friends?”

“Ha! Of course. I’m only like the all-time world champ,” Darcy boasted. The older woman actually smirked at that.

“Try me.”

Jane had to cut them off before they could get going however. “Where’s Erik?” she worried out loud. He’d gone to a different lab to check up on something, and they hadn’t been able to get to him in time.

“Oh, it’s fine. I know where he was going,” Darcy replied, nonchalant. “He’s with the not-so-jolly green giant. You know, Dr. Banner,” she elaborated, wincing, in response to Jane’s decidedly not amused stare. “Who’s, er, not green or giant right now, I’m sure. So, you know. He’s fine.”

She quickly went back to staring at her phone, pretending to be engrossed by it, in order to avoid looking at Jane.

Ms. Potts gently reached out to touch Jane by the shoulder. “I know Bruce’s ‘condition’ can be a little scary to hear about, but he’s been living with us for a while now. He has it under control. And even if something happens, he wouldn’t hurt your friend.”

Jane thought about the intelligent, mild-mannered man she had met in the labs on her first day at the Tower. And she tried not to picture the monster she had heard stories of that lurked underneath.

“I hope you’re right,” was all she could bring herself to say.

The minutes after that seemed to drag. They could hear and see nothing, had no idea what was going on.

The silence and isolation made the tension a lot worse. Jane tried not to worry about Erik, or any of the other nice people she had met in the Tower. She tried not to picture Loki on the warpath, tearing through the building and anyone he met, for all she knew heading right their way.

And she tried not to think about Thor. That she was worrying about him, when she didn’t know if she should be. When she wasn’t even sure if it was her right to worry.

Little did she know something was about to happen in a big way to take her mind right off it.

The lights gutted out, for just long enough to make the three of them spring to their feet in alarm, and Darcy to squeal. The floor felt like it vibrated.

“JARVIS, what is this?” Ms. Potts demanded as the lights returned. “Is there some kind of earthquake?”

 _“No, it is not. In fact, the activity appears to be confined to a very limited area.”_ The AI sounded perturbed. _“As in…this floor of the building.”_

“What? How is that even possible?” Jane asked, for once not caring she was speaking to empty air.

_“Well, it would appear that there has been some small sort of interdimensional event. A targeted energy surge.”_

“The Bifrost,” Jane breathed out loud in realization. She had studied it more than enough to recognize its effects.

There was a very quiet sound that still carried in the small room. A throat being cleared, behind them.

 Jane froze. Very slowly, as one, she and the other two women turned around.

There was a figure seated in a white loveseat next the wall. It was, Jane observed at once, an incredibly regal and gorgeously attired Asgardian woman.

She was leaning slightly on her one arm so her legs went to one side, elbow propped up on the other, using the armrest like it was her throne. It was a sultry, poised effect that Jane knew she couldn’t pull off herself. Far as she knew, only supermodels and Hollywood starlets could.

The woman had long dark hair that cascaded around her shoulders and down her back. Her flawless makeup was thin and smoky around her eyes, crimson red on her lips and fingertips. Her gown was an off-white cream, and she was absolutely dripping in gold and emeralds.

She was wearing a diadem that curved up and back over her head in the shape of a pair of horns.

And then, as Jane kept staring at her, it hit her that underneath all that glamor and worldly confidence, she actually recognized that face.

“…Darcy?” she faltered.

She felt like she couldn’t _possibly_ be seeing what she thought she saw. But the queen-like woman smiled at her.

“Hey, guys,” the other Darcy said, breezily. “What’s up?”


End file.
